


The Devil's Due

by Rhigama



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood
Genre: Adult Situations, Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Cruelty, Dark, Drugs, Explicit Language, Inappropriate Humor, Multi, Nudity, Reader Insert, Torture, extreme violence, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhigama/pseuds/Rhigama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are people in this world whom are truly exceptional. They are the ones whom the homunculi and their Father search for, in order to bring their plans to fruition. With so few certainties, the Seven Sins must find other sacrificial lambs in case of a setback. But things are seldom so easy, aren't they?<br/>With their enemies amassing strength, the homunculi soon realize that their list of allies was thin to begin with. So they cast around for options, and what they came up with is Kimblee. And the Crimson Alchemist, in turn...comes up with <i>you.</i></p><p>Thing is, you turn out to be far more than any of them bargained for.</p><p> </p><p>Solf J. Kimblee x Reader x Roy Mustang  (Final pairing TBD.)<br/>SLIGHT Reader x Lust<br/>SLIGHT Reader x Greed/Greedling</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Long March

**Author's Note:**

> Rhig: Hello all! :3 Hope things are well for everyone. I have always enjoyed Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood more than the regular one. And I've been wanting to write a fanfic for it, so here we be! Of course, there will be some canon divergence, but true to form I intend to keep as many canon aspects as I can get away with. 
> 
> Admittedly, the first chapter is short. I am working on the second one of course, and I'll make up for it with a longer chapter next time. The pairings are fairly concrete, we will see what happens though...if anyone has some thoughts on the subject, I'm all ears. Your character in this is not a lesbian. You'll see how the Reader x Lust part ties in...really, it's more for nefarious purposes. Now, some ground rules:
> 
> 1\. I don't do pointless smut.  
> 2\. I am giving the reader character a name, and an appearance...because I don't do 'descriptive blanks'. They annoy me, and if I were to include them, I would lose interest in writing this in record time. Blanks kill my inspiration. .___.  
> 3\. Feedback is appreciated. No flames, please. That's Roy's job! x3
> 
> Riza: She does not own Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, only the plot and so on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several years ago, the order was handed down to initiate the Ishvalan War of Extermination. Alchemists, the so-called 'dogs of the military', were sent to the desert en masse, that they may fulfill their murderous orders from Central Command.  
> It proved to be the final nail in the coffin. The talents of these scientists were utilized to devastating effect.
> 
> And _you_ were one of them.

The Long March

 

_**Ishval; Several Years Ago. During the War of Extermination...**_

It was a deceptively peaceful day in the Ishvalan desert. The wind was breathing, the sun was shining...and crisping every inch of flesh to the bone. Soldiers muttered to one another that it was if they were being seared alive by the Flame Alchemist's scorch. Despite the abundance of daylight, and that there would be several more hours of it left; troops were making camp as hastily as possible. The makings of a sandstorm blustered upon the distant horizon. With it about to blow over this valley, there would be no outrunning the deluge of sand and wind once it drew close enough. It looked far away _now_ , but every second it shifted closer was a moment less towards preparations. Your stare was humorless on each complainer, and they doggedly continued pitching their tents, avoiding your blistering gaze. State alchemists are ranked equivalent to a major in the military. While you weren't too much higher up than the rank and file; you were still to be respected...and you certainly kept them conscious of it. There weren't too many women here. If you let your guard down long enough it was very possible that some of these testosterone-laden and (currently) undersexed men would try something quite drastic. And it was equally likely that should such an incident occur, it would be swept under the proverbial carpet with all due haste.

So, you kept your cool and at least one eye open always. But judging from what you had seen from your colleagues, some of them could teach even _you_ a few things about paranoia. While each of these alchemists (yourself included) obeyed the call to war, many of them exerted auras of worry verging upon the rim of terror. They are scientists. Not warriors. Not all of them, anyway. You were somewhat disquieted yourself but opted to hide it to the best of your ability. But what had all the others on tenterhooks was not the same reason as what wriggled beneath your skin. It was another alchemist who set your teeth secretly on edge. And that man is none other than Solf J. Kimblee.

Musing, you settled in your tent and zipped its closure, tension easing from exhausted muscles. At last, that wretched man was no longer in sight. You could finally rest. His sheer eagerness to reach Ishval and purge every last man, woman and child from this land was astounding and jarring to say the least. Though he wasn’t totally wrong to feel the way he did. While struggling to maintain a professional appearance for now; your insides writhed in a peculiar agony, making you strangely giddy. The idea of this kind of power was unheard of before now. You never had the chance to rule on the fate of another...to decide whether or not somebody lives or dies. And not even that. By Fuhrer-King Bradley's order; the Ishvalans would all be slain down to the last; but now...you could apply your own alchemy in a propensity the likes of which you'd never been allowed before. Key word: _allowed_. 

And suddenly, interrupting your thoughts, the sandstorm erupted through the air. Only a few quivering microns of tough fabric were between yourself and its gushing grit. Evidently, that's all that it took to keep this dry tempest out, but you'd probably have to dig the tent closure out later when it was safe to emerge. Your red eyes stared blankly at the close walls, flapping under the pressure of wind. This was a grim portent, if one believed in such things. You had some Ishvalan blood on your father’s side, though barely enough to give you the telltale eyes. And from spending plenty of time outdoors your skin had tanned nicely, but that is where the similarities ended. After all, yours is a peculiar genetic legacy. Your mother is pure Xianese, but your father is Amestrian with a smattering of Drachman, Aerugonian and Ishvalan blood. Any combination of these ethnicities apparently made your hair starling black, let alone the fact that you’re half Xianese. Coupled with those crimson eyes and a light tan complexion, this made for a unique appearance in Amestris. And it made your presence here in Ishval controversial to say the least, but you were summoned, and you obeyed.

For the quantity of foreign blood you apparently possessed; it was a wonder you were permitted into the Amestrian military _period_ , though you are a native citizen of Amestris by birth alone. Fuhrer King Bradley saw something in you during the entrance exams that remained a mystery to everyone else till this day. For it was nearly the eve of battle, and soon it would be revealed whether or not this was an error on his part. 

Laying back against your bedroll, you closed your eyes and resolved to prove him right.  
It’s that, or tuck tail and run like a coward.

 

_The Following Day..._

 

The storm had blown out a couple hours before the crack of dawn, and the commanders drove everyone to march harder once the army dug itself out. You had fallen in step with the other alchemists, red eyes set on the horizon thoughtfully. It was easy to ignore the glances others kept shooting you. But finally one decided to speak up, cruel amusement lacing his tone.

"So, how's it feel to know you'll be going up against some long lost relatives?"

You didn't need to check to know it was Kimblee. His taunting voice was all you required to identify him. Continuing forward, white hood drawn up against the sun and wind, you hardly wished to gratify his query with a response, but did so nevertheless. "If you are asking me whether or not I'll be able to pull the trigger, the answer is 'yes'. So if you've come to question my resolve, you succeed only in testing my patience." Your voice was stiff, almost mechanical, and you hoped this would be enough to stave him off for now. No matter what, you couldn't waver. That's not only for your own sake, but for that of others; even if you ended up proving yourself wrong and were potentially unable to stomach the inevitable carnage. This wasn't exactly your idea of a good time. 

"Ahhh, but we'll see about that soon enough."

Now you _did_ slide him a sidelong glance, barely visible around the hem of your oversized white hood. "I put this uniform on under my own power and am not nearly as naive as the others who chose to do the same. I understand its meaning."

"I see." He mused, mouth tilting into a casual smirk. "So many are clearly unhappy to be here. Evidently they expected different from this."

"There are few who will find purpose in the slaughter, Kimblee."

His smirk grew a touch wider, almost expectantly. "It sounds to me like you exclude yourself in that statement."

"I have very little waiting for me back in Amestris. While not ideal, this war of extermination at least gives more substance to my currently meager life. And, it offers an opportunity to test my research."

An eyebrow arched and his smirk relaxed. "I don't believe I've heard what they call you." He remarked coolly, eyes now upon the sharpening lines of the land. Stony folds rising out of the sand sea interrupted the landscape in bold, sun bleached spars and ridges. 

"Ah. That. Well--" You broke the sentence, lingering upon it. The Fuhrer had a dark sense of humor when he bequeathed your alchemist title unto you. It had to do with the group of fools you began the testing with. During and after these examinations you proved to be the most gifted of the bunch, but more to the point, you had to struggle not to kill them during the grouped portions. "I should say that I like to keep that to myself until I earn the name gifted to me. I don't wish to bring shame to it before I can prove it a just and fitting title." 

Kimblee thought to say something, but found himself at a cross between amused and annoyed. "Then tell me this name, and by the end of this war, if you're still alive, I can tell you myself if you've earned it."

This was quite an offer, and it successfully captured your intrigue. Solf J. Kimblee is infamous, known all over for his sheer prowess with explosive power. For any individual aspiring to become a butcher of the innocent, Kimblee was a perfect idol. He took absolute pleasure in decimation unlike any other openly known to civilization, and for every ounce of bloodthirst he had the cunning and confidence to match.

It was sexy. And you hated him for it.

 

But his offer lingered upon your mind as you both walked side by side with the others to the looming destination. Maybe he was right. It was not really your call, to decide whether or not you were worthy of something. One's own perspective is by definition biased. It wouldn't hurt to hear from somebody else. With great hesitation, you relented. "He called me...The Dreadnought Alchemist."

Kimblee's eyebrows lifted, and he almost barked out a laugh. "I see. That's quite a name. I can understand why you feel that way, now."

"In my testing bracket, I was the only one whom passed." You responded bluntly. "To be certain, they were horribly lacking. Additionally, the Fuhrer does not want me freely practicing my particular brand of alchemy. It vexes me, but I understand why. Great power has always intimidated weak men, and he wants others to continue applying to join."

"Sounds like you already think you've earned that title." He almost whistled. There was plenty of swagger and bravado in that statement. 

You shot him a sideways glance around the edge of your hood, continuing forward. "No. I think, since I'm only allowed to use the bare minimum to protect myself on a daily basis; I've earned the moniker that the soldiers have come up with, and nothing more."

"Ah, yes. 'Hazard'."

You made no response. 

"So then, Hazard, what would be your real name?"

Your only answer to that was to give a partially hidden smile and lapse into silence. Of this, you could be the judge. Kimblee didn't appear fond of this response, and his wicked smirk was back in full force. "You know, I've got a high enough rank to go and find out on my own."

"Yes," You responded calmly and knowingly, watching the shoulders of the men and sparse few women marching ahead. "But you won't."  
At this, he ordinarily would have gone and found out for himself to call that shallow bluff, but Kimblee was intrigued. And in any case, he had no further opportunities to press harder for information. The destination was right up ahead, and the soldiers furthest forward were tightening ranks as they approached the front. You watched them. The pit of your stomach knotted with anticipation.

Finally.  
It was killing time.


	2. Hell On Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the Ishvalan war continue to play out until their end. From the bloodshed and mass destruction, a peculiar bond is born between yourself and a certain man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhig: Thank you for the reads, review and kudos! ^^ I’ve got high hopes for this fic, and am excited to get it going finally.  
> This will linger in the past for a bit longer only to set up for the actual present time this fanfic takes place in.
> 
> P.S: Your character is a BAMF, as they say. If that’s not noticeable yet, just wait…it gets better. XD’

Hell on Earth

 

_Weeks Later …_

 

If the underworld was a battlefield, this would surely be its mirror image.

Buildings and bodies lay broken in the sand, and pale paving stones jutted fractured out of the ground; some pooled with blood wherever the desert hadn’t drained the fluid into its dry depths. Fire cackled and danced in the wind upon corpses and structures, marking the Flame Alchemist’s path. Others stayed far away from him, watching as his inferno began to spread, effortlessly consuming a quadrant of the city. Throughout this blasted warzone was the presence of tormented, frightened wails and war cries. Also, it was about as hot as hell around here, that’s for damned sure. But you weren’t in the area where the bulk of the fighting was taking place. No, you were _elsewhere_ , away from where other Alchemists who wielded more wide-range talents were off playing.

Arms crossed, you leaned in the adobe archway cresting a flight of stairs, covered nearly head to toe in blood not your own. Your standard-issue hooded white duster coat now sported splotches of the stuff, hardly leaving a few patches in your uniform untouched. The area you were ordered to take had been purged in short order, and it was silent here apart from the echoing cries, gunfire and explosions reaching out across the distance from other sectors. You were instructed to remain here until further orders were delivered, also to be certain that there weren’t any survivors. 

The sound of footsteps at the mouth of the lane drew your gaze, and you opened one eye to see none other than Maes Hughes and a small detachment of men, each with their semi-auto guns at chest level. You didn’t bother acknowledging them, turning your face into the wind and looking down the street. Upon seeing that there was no threat in this sector, the men lowered their guns, and Hughes whistled as he mounted the stairs. “Whew, was this all you?” He asked.

“Who else?” You countered, and pushed off from the archway, arms unfolding. His hazel eyes flickered over your state of dress, and how the blood stains were most concentrated at your arms. Your hands and forearms were completely soaked, and you apparently made no effort to wipe the tacky red liquid off. Hughes may not be an alchemist, but he knew this much: unless you had a hidden knife or gun somewhere on your person, you appeared completely unarmed. You didn’t have any noticeable alchemy trinkets either, like gauntlets or vambraces or gloves. _That_ , in and of itself, is ominous. Then, there are those _eyes_. As Mustang liked to refer to them; those are the eyes of a killer, with yours set like scarlet jewels in an attractive young woman’s face. His heart ached a little bit. Hughes didn’t appreciate this kind of brutality and what it did to people. And not only the victims, but the survivors, and the often-overlooked soldier whose only crime was to follow orders and serve his or her country. “What’s your directive?” He asked at long last, wondering why he found you hanging out and apparently doing nothing.

“I was to purge the area and remain on standby. Do you have new orders for me, Lieutenant?” This phrase was not meant to sound waspish, though it might’ve come out a bit more snide than planned. Since you’re a State Alchemist and one who earned her rank as Major besides, you are few ranks above a lieutenant such as him. Though Hughes wasn’t one of those guys you needed to keep an eye on, you still didn’t appreciate receiving orders from somebody who doesn’t outrank you. But it is what it is.

Hughes brushed off the hidden barb in your tone and thought for a moment, his gaze swiveling back towards the cadaver-choked street. This area would be perfect to occupy. It was fairly well removed from the main conflict where it could be used as a secondary foothold in the city, not to mention that none of the structures were damaged. Yet another piece of your mystery, honestly; most alchemists wreck everything in their way with their abilities, but all you did that he could see was eliminate the Ishvalans. “Now that we’re here, feel free to go ahead to the next section, Major Vega. We’ll further secure the vicinity and have a team come in and set up the area.”

Ignoring that he apparently knew your surname, you briefly and automatically saluted him with one scarlet hand and jumped down off the staircase, landed easily upon a dead woman’s back with a ‘CRUNCH!’, and took off down the lane, hooking a corner out of sight. Hughes watched for a moment before turning to his men and issuing orders. They had to get cracking if they wanted the corpses cleared out of the street before dusk, but no one was about to complain. While handling bodies is far from ideal, this area was nicely shaded from the tall adobe buildings on either side. At least this was better than baking alive in direct sun.

Meanwhile, you were your way to the next district, weaving through thin streets that followed the gradual slope of a hill, with each street as lined with adobe buildings as the next. Up above were tiny balconies so narrow that no more than two people could stand on one shoulder-to-shoulder, some of them adorned with buckets of herbs or flowers, or bold-striped swathes of fabric draped across to form makeshift awnings. You kept your head on the swivel as you ran down the cramped lane, dodging around stairs landings and stacks of barrels and tall clay pots, when abruptly wooden lids were flung off and shutters and doors all around banged open. Ishvalan men and teens maneuvered guns around window frames and doorjambs and over the rims of pots and barrels, and opened fire. Immediately you were surrounded by a 360 degree hail of bullets. But this ambush didn’t work as intended.

They didn’t notice the flash of an alchemical reaction, only the snap and pop of energy tendrils like electricity around your entire person. Before anyone could register _how_ and _why_ , their bullets were deflected and the nearest three men absorbed several ricocheted projectiles, dead before they hit the ground. Earthen pots shattered, the surrounding adobe walls became riddled with cracks and pockmarks, and through this you stood unscathed. None of them ceased fire yet though, and you turned towards the first doorway and darted inside, not skipping a beat as a man bounded out of hiding and attempted to run you through with a kitchen knife. You caught that wrist with one hand, and with the other drove your fist through his chest, effortlessly breaking through the chest wall and smashing his heart, and ignoring the burst of gore that sprayed across your front. 

You flung him to the side underneath a steep staircase, and bolted up two at a time, heading towards the guy who had been perched upon the little balcony of this house. He turned to fire but stopped at first, wide eyed and caught off guard at your sudden gore-drenched appearance. You rushed him, freshly reddened hand extended towards his torso, and caught right beneath the ribcage, your hand now surrounded by hot, bleeding flesh. He screamed ear-splittingly. Finger pressed mindlessly tight on the trigger, and with his arm flung past your shoulder, your victim uncontrollably rained a line of bullets diagonally across the tiny bedroom from floor to ceiling. But you did not stop moving upon having made contact with him; and plowed right out onto the balcony, put one foot on the rail, and jumped the few yards across to the balcony parallel this one. When his friends aimed to fire they faltered, seeing that you now had a meat shield. And while he was hemorrhaging _everywhere_ and fruitlessly squeezing the trigger of an emptied semi-auto, he was still very much alive.

“Ggg..gghhh…he..help..” He gurgled to his fellows, some of which had recoiled. You raised your hand up and bore his weight upon your arm like a ventriloquist does with a puppet, showing him off to his compatriots. “Go ahead. Help him. It would be a mercy, compared to having my hand wrapped around his spine.” The man’s strength was passing rapidly, and his gun slipped from loosening fingers, clattering noisily to the street below. His blood oozed over the railing, and dribbled steadily down where the gun had landed before skidding away down the hill upon worn cobblestones.

“You...you monster…” An older man whispered hoarsely, from where he cowered within the confines of the room attached to the current balcony you stood upon. You turned to make eye contact with him. Horrified at what he saw, the elderly man shrank back against the far wall. “How could you raise a hand to one of your own people?” He asked in his feeble voice, and you scoffed. “Blood can only run so thick, old man.” With the sickening _‘schloooop’_ of moist meat parting from a harder substance; you allowed the body to slide off your arm and collapse to the street below, and turned towards the old man, stepping into the shade of his room. Without a word, you began walking towards him, raising your gory arm up; like a gentle hand reaching out to comfort one who mourns. He cringed back. Unless his aging eyes deceived him, there was something not normal about your arm. But he couldn’t decide what that was when he couldn’t see anything. Being as drenched as you are, it was impossible to tell for sure. 

Outside there was a clatter of activity, with Ishvalans screaming for others to get to safety while another party burst into the house downstairs, presumably to save their elder and eliminate the threat. But right as they ran up the stairs, a deafening explosion of red light ripped through the vicinity, preceded by a _tremendously_ powerful concussive shockwave which flung everybody else to the ground like cheap ragdolls, some of whom were dying from that alone. You had exactly one split second to protect yourself as beams and chunks of plaster and adobe rained down. You couldn’t hear anything else over the deafening chaos, and fought to escape back the way you came. But the balcony crumbled underfoot with the rest of the house, along with the structures on either side. You fell about fifteen feet, hit the ground and rolled automatically to reduce the shock, but none of the pain of impact registered anyhow with your alchemy continually activated and protecting you. Before you could escape the cramped little street, the explosions ended, and you took the chance to book towards the end of the lane, your head thundering with a minor case of shell shock. How you were moving _period_ was a mystery to anyone alive enough to comprehend it, but you weren’t pausing to think. At this point, it was a case of survival instincts flipping into overdrive. On impulse alone, you survived this catastrophe unscathed.

The white noise in your head would begin to subside, and as it did, you heard a man laughing his head off in the distance. You had emerged out of shade into merciless sun, and saw a path of destruction remarkably broad. As far as you could see, apart from a sparse handful of buildings around the rim, there was nothing but rubble and corpses and blood. Stepping out amid the detritus, you suddenly felt rather amused at your luck that you should cross paths with Solf J. Kimblee of all people in this accursed city. While you continued walking, the ringing in your ears continually abated bit by bit, and so did the laughter from across the way.

“WHAT A _BEAUTIFUL_ SOUND!!!” He exclaimed gleefully, and you continued heading across towards the man that you knew was enjoying himself far too much. He was practically gloating to the heavens over what he had wrought here.

Shit, who were you to judge? You were having fun earlier too; this was the opportunity you were lacking in order to test your research. Though if that old guy thought that _you_ are a monster, he certainly hasn’t met Kimblee. Admittedly, he wasn’t wrong in calling you what he did. But you are more disciplined than that blue-eyed bastard. 

Having noticed your approach, he met you in the shade of the building he was standing atop not minutes prior. He watched your shape draw closer from across his field of mayhem, his thoughts beginning to roam whilst waiting. Your tent is close to his back in the encampment, and he made it his business to keep an eye on you after that chat on the eve of battle. Not a single moment had passed where you weren’t acutely aware of his presence, and he preferred to keep it that way. Indeed, there had been tiny incidents where he would make sure you knew that you couldn’t escape him. Also because you’re part Ishvalan, you suspected. But if the Fuhrer saw fit to send you here, Kimblee couldn’t say three words about it and be in the right.

Didn’t stop him from taunting you though, in every way that he could.

Once you drew level with him, his expression remained tickled with glee as he took in your sodden appearance. Quite opposite of you, he was entirely untouched without a solitary fleck of blood upon his person. But you were still as coated in the stuff as before, with a layer of dust across your back and smattered over your legs and the backs of your arms and shoulders. This made the act of trying to distinguish you from another kind of soldier somewhat difficult; unless the Ishvalans had figured out that only the alchemists wore hooded white coats, while other military officers wore a hoodless version. That, and you continue to seem unarmed. Of the countless opportunities you had to pick up a gun from one of the fallen, you never bothered. Kimblee continued to be utterly intrigued. Not only do you fail to share the same reluctance as others called to action, but through various conversations, he’d grown to understand that you’re about as amoral as he is.

Now there was a peculiar hunger deep inside those cold eyes of his. He watched you emerge from his swathe of destruction without a limp. While it was impossible to tell if you were wounded in any way, he knew he’d find out soon enough. “Did you see?” He asked almost casually, referring to the explosion. It had been his most beautiful one yet, with the addition of his shiny new philosopher stone, though he didn’t divulge that piece of news and nor would he.

Knowing what he was fishing for, you looked him in the eye, extended an arm backwards, and pointed right behind you across the way; towards the street you escaped from. “I experienced it, actually. That one was exceptionally intense, I had no warning.” You lowered your arm. “Regardless, you’re going to have to try harder than that to penetrate my defenses, Solf.”

At the use of his first name he stepped closer, nearly nose to nose. You fearlessly returned his gaze with cool, unwavering resolve. At this proximity, it would be so easy to leave a smear on his untouched self. You resisted the urge, right as he leaned a modicum closer. “Keep that up, _Major_ , and you’ll get what you’re asking for.”

You closed the gap, but moved past his mouth, whispering almost huskily into his ear. “I look forward to it, _sir_.” Then you ventured a most dangerous gamble: you stepped away and turned your back on the Crimson Alchemist whom is also currently your superior, unafraid that he’d send you sky high for your insolence.

 

_Amestrian Military Encampment, Hours Later…_

 

Thankfully considering how covered you were, you had been allowed to go inside a house being used as a medical facility to clean up. The Doctors Rockbell insisted that you get the unsanitary muck off before you developed an infection, and you were pointed in the direction of the upstairs area where there were a couple bathrooms and bedrooms. Some of the officers had been coming in periodically to do the same thing, and you were happy to be able to clean up. The water wasn’t heated; but ice cold as it was, you didn’t care. After adjusting to that it felt nice, though you took a bit too long to scrub down. The next person decided to boldly walk inside to tell you off for overstepping your time slot, and he grabbed the hem of the shower curtain and yanked it aside. You paused and looked back at this man whom you realized; irony of ironies, was of course Kimblee.

He stared at your exposed body, eyeing the sepia-toned tattoos which appeared to be a cross between tribal and henna, spiraling around your arms down to your palms and adjoining across your shoulder blades at your back, a spire of text forming a sharp lance down your spine. You kept your back turned and watched him from over a shoulder, unconcerned that this man intruded on your shower. His gaze didn’t pause at the alchemical tattoos alone; they skimmed unobscured over the remainder of your glistening wet body. It was now that he realized you didn't suffer a one scratch on your person, same as him throughout this whole war thus far. Surprising, for one who prefers close-quarters combat. You sighed, closed your eyes, and continued working water through your hair. “In or out, Solf. Pick one.”

Considering that he was wasting time already, he disrobed and stepped inside the shower under the cold, weak stream and immediately turned you around, grasped your wrists, and pinned them over your head against the tiled wall. You lazily opened your eyes, finding yourself once again nose to nose with him. You didn’t understand why he hesitated. Whether or not he was having a moment of doubt, or simply waiting to see if you’d resist, it was impossible to say. But he obviously didn’t know you well enough, because you didn’t find yourself very willing to wait. There had been a twisted sort of chemistry brewing between you both since day one, and something was bound to give sooner or later. Kimblee awoke from whatever notion stopped him, and he closed the distance, mouth roughly plundering yours. You reciprocated with equal ferocity, as always, cancelling him out. But he wouldn’t be put off so easily. Kimblee relinquished his grip on your wrists in favor of slipping his hands beneath your knees, lifting you up against the wall. 

He had a point to prove and not much time to prove it _in_ , of course.  
Thing is, so did you.

 

_Not Long Later…_

No one had any clue. With the bustling clinic downstairs there was too much noise, and considering that you both have wanted to fuck for awhile now, it was done hard and fast. You ached quite a bit from the experience. Also, there was an unspoken rule that not a single scream could be uttered, or else others _would_ notice. You had to bite his shoulder once or twice, as he had _not_ been merciful. That’s fine; you could get him back another night. If this didn’t become a one time deal, that is.

You both had dressed and left at separate times so as not to raise suspicion. There wasn’t any cutesy pillow talk (apart from lacking pillows at present), no snuggling would be had, and you didn’t even help one another wash up. But there _was_ a sense of relief at finally obtaining that much-needed release, and you felt deeply at ease. You were the first one to exit the building since you were there before him, and slipped out silently through the back. Realizing what time it was, you gladly remembered that you now had some time off to recuperate. You had gone 48 hours without sleep, which ended up lengthening to more like three days because some guardsmen got gunned down by an enemy sniper. You agreed to stand watch, since you are apparently bulletproof. Though still to this day, after how long it’s been out in this grisly desert war, no one had a one damned idea how you were able to absorb and deflect any form of damage with nary a wobble. This was frightening to both enemy and ally, though your allies were glad to have you on their side.

Now faced with either taking these off-hours to sleep or going to stand in line for rations, you were bickering with yourself about what to do. You love your sleep, and if you get less than 7 hours a day; let’s just say that the results ain’t pretty. Sleep deprivation effectively turns you into a heartless war machine, especially when you didn’t get as little as a catnap for the past 72 hours now. Kimblee noticed this phenomenon, and made a quick note-to-self to file that info away in the back of his mind. It may come in useful in the future.

Since the line wasn’t too bad right now, you went and got your rations and some water, then settled down on a crate by a wall to eat and drink. A stone’s throw away sat Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, both of whom you recognized quite easily. Riza was making a name for herself these days as the finest sharpshooter around, and Roy was a goddamned legend in his own right already. Turning back to your vile-tasting meal in a bit of a daze, you weren’t paying attention when Hughes approached. He paused when he saw you, and blinked in surprise. “Eating alone, huh?”

“Mmf?” You began, then swallowed your food and tried again. “Sorry, yes.”

“Well why don’t you come on over and hang with us for awhile? I’ll introduce you to Roy and Riza.” 

You looked quizzically at his smiling face, and before having much chance to consider, were grabbed by the elbow and hauled over. “Uhm...I…hey!”

Roy blinked up as you were deposited onto the crate beside him, bumping shoulders by accident. You managed not to wince. The only part of you that was actually sore from today was between your thighs, and you landed on this sturdy wooden crate a bit too hard. 

“Roy, Riza, this is Ms. Rin Vega. Rin, this is Riza Hawkeye; and that of course is Roy Mustang!” Hughes introduced enthusiastically, and for the sake of politeness among comrades, you accepted Riza’s outstretched hand first in a firm handshake. “Pleased to meet you.” She said, and you nodded once. “You as well, Riza. I’ve seen you in action. To say that you are remarkable at what you do would be an understatement.” She smiled at that, though you could tell that she didn’t want to. Then you turned to Roy, and nodded to him, shaking the Flame Alchemist’s hand fearlessly. “Same goes for you, Roy. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He said with a tired grin. While you and Riza were exchanging pleasantries, he had a moment to give the once over. He liked what he saw, but was too mentally and physically exhausted to spring into debonair-mode, though he would help carry the awkward conversation nonetheless. “Aren’t you the one they call ‘Hazard’?”

“Ahah, that’s spreading is it?” You chuckled airily. “Yes, I’m afraid so; though I’ve certainly been called worse.” You said, smiling a little and taking a gulp of your water, watching while Maes settled down on a crate nearby Riza, his elbows situated upon his knees. Before they could delve further into the topic of your two strange monikers, you switched to another subject. “So, tell me. Is it true what I’ve heard about Armstrong?” You inquired, and the three exchanged a look. “Yeah.” Maes confirmed gravely. “He was sent back to Central, poor guy. Just couldn’t handle it.”

“Bloody hell, Olivier’s going to be absolutely _furious_ with him.” You sighed, which made Roy lift his head a fraction and watch you out the corner of an eye. Both Riza and Maes where now wondering the same thing he was: who exactly _are_ you to refer so casually to General Armstrong by her first name? 

You finished your water, not paying attention to their reactions. “Can’t be helped, I suppose. Alex is too much of a bleeding heart; and a murderer that does not make. But then, that’s the occupational hazard of putting this uniform on, isn’t it? War whittles away at who we are, a piece breaking off with every life taken.”

“I’m guessing that you know him?” Roy asked finally, and you nodded once. “Yes, I know him well enough. My family and theirs have been neighbors since before I was born.” Of course, you didn’t elaborate. Being neighbors in that part of Central City meant that you lived in a huge-ass mansion. If they didn’t figure that out on their own, it wasn’t your fault. “Anyhow, from what I understand, tomorrow we’d best be prepared for one final push, and then we’ll be home free. IF the rumors are true and everything goes well, of course.” You arose and stretched, then picked up the tray your rations had been in. “Better catch some sleep while I can.” You tossed back one last sip of water, hoping it would help alleviate the disgusting aftertaste. No one joins the military for the food, that’s for damn sure. 

 

_Around 48 Hours Later…_

The last known Ishvalans had been rounded up and slain in short order with Kimblee using his philosopher’s stone. Naturally no one but a handful of people knew about that, and you weren’t one of them. It was strictly classified information.

But when they wanted the stone back, Solf refused, and slaughtered every man in the room so that he could hold on to the stone which he now coveted so dearly. Of course he would be arrested for offing people not on the kill list, but the point remained that he got to _keep_ the philosopher’s stone, and apparently no one would know about it. That is to say, anyone who _did_ know kept their mouths shut. The only thing you heard is that Kimblee went berserk and butchered the wrong people, and was to be imprisoned for his actions. You haven’t seen him since that one late afternoon in the shower.

With a civilization left in ruins, Fuhrer Bradley made an appearance up on a high point in the city commons square above his amassing army, not long after the Ishvalan leader surrendered. The Fuhrer’s appearance now was much the same as when this whole ordeal began, except _before_ he gave a speech. Though being an eloquent speaker, Bradley isn’t one who gives many speeches. That particular one had been rather succinct, meant only to give the go-ahead for the ‘festivities’ to begin. He said even less now, only giving the much-awaited announcement that at long last, everyone could go home. Not far away, you saw Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes talking in hushed tones, with Roy sending a sizzling glare up in the Fuhrer’s direction whenever he believed no one would notice. You smiled secretively to yourself, and turned away from them.

A war had ended moments ago, yet something told you that the _real_ fight had yet to begin.


	3. Sleeping Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimblee gets out of jail, and there are unwanted guests in your very near future.  
> Haven't the homunculi heard the term, 'let sleeping dogs lie'? Because these two particular 'dogs of the military' are trained to kill.  
> Both yourself, and Solf J. Kimblee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhig: So, your alchemy itself will be explained more in depth as we progress, but I didn’t feel like fully revealing it yet. It will most likely remind you of a certain person in the series, which is something I noticed more afterwards, it wasn't intentional. Let’s just say, your alchemy is a version of what theirs _could_ have been, particularly if it was more weaponized and generally expanded upon. Also, given that, it’ll be a surprise to the characters what your alchemy actually _does,_ because you’re human. While it may seem like you are completely invulnerable for now, there is indeed a couple of loopholes. I promise when I cooked up this idea on what your alchemy is, I didn’t intend for it to closely mirror that of another, that’s simply how it worked out.
> 
> Disclaimer: If you use drugs, I don't judge. Whatever works for you. o.o No offense is intended in this chapter.

Sleeping Dogs

 

And so, the War of Extermination drew to its inevitably grisly close. The army left Ishval, and most everybody was discharged. Though many stayed on in the military, twice that number would feel they had more than done their part, and would retire to nurse their invisible wounds. Warfare _can_ have that effect on people. A handful of soldiers were so stricken with shell shock that they were practically insane. 

As for yourself, you returned home to your mansion, only to find that it was primarily empty of life. While the whole of your family had relocated to one of the more exotic sections of Xing, _you_ chose to stay put in Central City away from their thousands of questions, however temporarily. One of your second cousins volunteered to stay and hold down the fort whilst you where away in Ishval. Apart from him and his new wife, there was only the house staff and a pet cat named Solomon. 

Your cousin could easily be found hunched above a scatter of real estate catalogues, with his wife dozing off against a stack of overstuffed cushions on the sofa beside him. You dropped your pack onto the floor beside an invitingly luxurious armchair, and sunk into its cushioning gratefully. Of course, this cousin of yours is an _exceptionally_ oblivious crackhead with atrocious hearing and even worse eyesight, so you were treated to the sight of him preparing his next high rather than taking note of your appearance. He leaned over a flat square mirror sitting atop one of the real estate flyers, and patiently straightened up the lines of white powder with his razor; the sound of each tap and scrape rising almost rhythmically into the air. Now evidently satisfied with his work; he set the razor aside and picked up a tightly rolled paper bill, which was his favored thing to use. 

Midway through his first line, you gave a light cough. He blinked blearily in your direction, sniffling a little, and then smiled warmly. “Welcome home, Rin.” He put on his round glasses, took in your appearance, and seemed confused. “You’re still in uniform? Aren’t you discharged now?”

“Doesn’t exactly work that way for alchemists, you know.” You drawled pointedly, red eyes flickering over his wife’s belly. “She’s pregnant?”

“Ah…uhm…y-yeah. Her belly sure got big fast, I’m not sure I believe it myself yet.” He began to stutter, and then lowered his voice so as not to disturb her. “Sorry, could we talk in another room?” You were about to put your heels up but paused and reluctantly arose, stepping out into the hall. How annoying, to have to pussyfoot around a strange woman’s naptime in your own house! As if reading your vague agitation, he followed quickly and whispered, “It’s just that she hasn’t slept through a single night here, and it’s been almost a month already. Can’t get used to it, see?”

You crossed your arms. In military dress, and also being just over six feet tall, this made you appear rather imposing to the shorter man. “Oh _please_ , spare me the trivial bullshit. You’ve been looking for places to live based on all the flyers I saw on the table. Since she can’t sleep well here and also given that she’s pregnant, I would guess that you want to find a snug little nest to start your family in together. Am I getting warm?”

“Y-yes. That’s right.” He always had a very mild stuttering problem. That, or he was scared shitless. Mostly because you’re a human weapon, and he can barely see a handgun without cowering. “Fine by me. When you’re ready to go, the servants will assist you in packing up your things so you both needn’t stay any longer than necessary. I _would_ hate for your beloved wife to miss another night’s sleep.” You turned on your heel to go. “Pick a house to live in. If you can’t afford it, I’ll make up the difference as thanks for keeping an eye on my property for so long.”

“Wh…what?! Are you KIDDING me? Hey, get back here! Where are you going?”

“Central Command.”

“Wait, why?!”

“Just go pick a house already, dearest cousin. Now that I know you’ve been using under _my_ roof, you are no longer welcome.” You refrained from calling him ‘dumbass’, and vanished around the corner. He was left standing agape and unsure what to say while you exited through the front door, yanking your coat on as you went. Having been home barely ten minutes; you were _already_ leaving and somewhat glad of it, if that meant putting distance between oneself and that worthless meat-sack of a cousin.

You got in the car and drove to Central Command while being in no particular hurry. Sure, you had to speak to somebody regarding your status as a State Alchemist, but you wanted time to compose your thoughts. Thankfully due to traffic you got your wish, and had the better part of an hour to cool off before speaking with anybody important. Cousin-dear pissed you off in a big kind of way, and you had every right to be agitated over this whole thing. He had been sitting there in plain sight, prepping lines, where _any_ old person could find him. If the butler or one of the maids didn’t already report him for abusing controlled substances, you would be amazed.

Hell, you were lucky no one from the military found out you had a relapsing drug addict living in your house! Whether or not you thought he was clean prior to leaving for Ishval was immaterial. You would be in deep shit if they found out, because his conduct is deemed as inexcusable, as it is your house now. And you realized you were inclined to agree with the military’s astringent rules on that very subject. Cousin-dearest is a timid, sickly runt who only offered to help because he got evicted from his apartment for missing the rent too often. He’d been living with his girlfriend in her parent’s attic, only to get kicked out when they realized their daughter intended to marry a coke fiend, and sometimes helped feed his habit. The timing couldn’t have been better…you needed somebody to mind the mansion and house staff, and they needed a place to sleep. You pretended not to notice the signs that he's using again, providing that he didn't become hideously obvious about it. Now you had to get rid of them, and _fast_ , before those two began multiplying like rabbits. As it stands, his wife's belly was already showing, and she couldn't be very far along. If they don't take off before she gets too deep into the pregnancy, you'd be stuck with them. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

You arrived at Central Command, parked, and headed up the stairs to the State Alchemist office. Upon informing the secretary of the purpose of your visit, her polite smile sobered up immediately and she said she would inform her superior that there was a visitor for him. She would insist that you take a seat and wait, as it was possible you could be there for awhile.

So, about fifteen minutes later, imagine your surprise when it was Fuhrer King Bradley _himself_ who chose to speak with you about this. You would be sent in to his office, where Bradley stood before a window behind a sizeable desk. Rather than speaking initially, his hands met behind his back and folded together as he surveyed the view of Central from his office. Once his male aide exited the room and closed the door for privacy, you found yourself choking pride down as always. Duty won out in the end. Your heels snapped together, and one hand rose to your temple in a crisp salute, as per the standard greeting to a superior. “You wished to see me, your Excellency?”

“Actually, I heard it was you who wanted to speak with _me_.” The older man countered with a touch of amusement. “At ease, soldier. You may have a seat.”

You did so, though without an additional ‘yes sir, thank you sir’, as one is supposed to say. He finally turned from the window and sat down, his single visible green eye roving to your face. “Now what is this about, Major?”

“As you no doubt have heard, I intend to resign from the military and relinquish my title as a State Alchemist, sir.” 

He had a teacup raised to his lips as you said this, and you detected the minutest of pauses. After taking a sip, he set the china cup down with a muted ‘clink’, face rearranging into a more thoughtful expression. “Yes, I heard that from my aide. What has brought you to this decision?”

Rather than come up with some bullshit sob story about being irreversibly scarred from your tour through Ishval, you came out with something that he certainly didn’t expect. Instead, you made direct eye contact, and said: 

“Since I’ve returned from Ishval, I smell nothing but blood in the water. I’m thinking of traveling outside of the country for awhile.”

The brazen lack of any respect whatsoever towards his rank made this statement stand out further than it should have. With this alone, it occurred to Bradley just what kind of person was sitting on the opposite side of his desk. You are not a brainless halfwit, nor are you a weak young woman with her heart on her sleeve. Instead of those, you possess razor sharp intellect coupled with wicked cunning and a type of bloodthirsty, fearless tenacity. He had seen the reports, and witnessed with his own eyes; the only time you went to the medical areas was to make use of a private shower. Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell saw this as a necessity to let you make regular use of the showers, as you always returned from the field completely drenched in gore, apparently without a solitary speck of blood being your own. 

Let’s face it, washing up with a rag at the community water barrel wasn’t going to cut it for that level of grime. _Never_ , in all the reports of injured soldiers he had read, was there any indication that you suffered a lick of damage. You have deflected bullets and endured bomb blasts, and powered through districts worth of enemies like some type of unstoppable juggernaut. Of all the alchemists he bestowed a title upon; he felt that yours had to be on of the most fitting in various ways. Though it may not seem so to the average eye, you do have your weaknesses. Lucky for Bradley...his eyes aren't exactly what one would call 'average'.

Now, given those credentials and also that your moral compass apparently doesn’t point due north, he wasn’t willing to let you go so easily. Hopefully you could be maneuvered into performing Human Transmutation, thus cultivating another candidate for Father’s plan. But if you _wanted_ to leave that badly, there wasn’t a single soldier he could send that could stop you without creating an enormous mess. In all likelihood, he would have to deal with that personally. The alternative would be to send another dog of the military; and matching alchemist against alchemist in such a densely populated area was too dangerous to consider. The homunculi have to keep as many humans alive as possible for their end goals, opting to eradicate life only where necessary to carve Crests of Blood in the land, often making Philosopher Stones in the process. Candidates are vital, and you are on the ‘potential’ list. Therefore, he needed to come up with another way to keep you in arm’s reach.

With a plan filling the corners of his mind, Wrath’s mustachioed mouth tilted into the smile he was so excellent at duping people with. “Travel, eh? Where will you go then?” He inquired affably, and took another sip of tea, his one eye easing shut while savoring the smooth flavor. As of now, Bradley was nearly the picture of a kindly ruler.

You were _not_ fooled. You’ve seen the steel in this man’s stare before, and knew that keen edge existed right below the surface, where it’s most likely to flash out of hiding and slit you to the bone. 

“Might go anywhere, really. I could visit my family’s holdings in Aerugo or Creta, and make some social calls along the way. Then again, I could also go to the far side of Xing instead of creating more work for myself. My family has moved there recently. I’m about to be left alone in that huge mansion, so I have no real ties here.” Of course, you would never really tell him what destination you’d have in mind, opting instead to drive a certain point home: that you could go anywhere; whenever you pleased, and nothing would obstruct your path because of connections in the family trading business. You needed him to understand that if you stepped over the border of Amestris, you could disappear, and gone would be the days where they could make you roll over on command.  
The day you met Fuhrer Bradley, you immediately knew you couldn’t trust him. That feeling hasn’t changed since. You couldn’t shake the notion that something wasn’t right with him based solely upon the way he moved, his mannerisms, and those seemingly hair-trigger mood swings alternating between affable and threatening. 

“A mansion, you say? And you live alone?” He echoed, feigning genuine curiosity. “Is it completely paid for?”

“I sense that you have a point to make.” Your remark was humorless. Something told you that it wouldn’t be so easy to chew through your leash and run. There are places in this world you would like to go, specifically, areas where no one knew of your particular focus in alchemy. Their ignorance would prove profitable. And because of your family, you could easily justify your appearance in other countries without much in the way of resistance.

“That depends, Major. Would your reason for leaving Amestris be due to financial problems?”

“Let’s say for the sake of argument that it _is_ my reason for leaving. Why would this concern you in any way, Fuhrer?”

“Because I could have a solution, if you’re interested in hearing me out.”

Oh, what’s this? This whole conversation was becoming stranger by the minute. “Alright. I’m listening.”

The Fuhrer set his teacup down again, china clunking gently against china. When his gaze reconnected with yours, that subzero razor’s edge was showing. “When you first earned your title as a State Alchemist, I had no choice but to put certain restrictions in place, as you no doubt recall.”

“How could I forget?” You answered flatly.

“Of course, those restrictions were in keeping with the three tenets of alchemy. I take it that you know them?”

Realizing that he was waiting for you to recite them, as if to make certain that you’re following along here, you reeled them off without indicating that you were a bit annoyed. “Alchemists, be thou for the people. Thou shalt obey the military. Thou shalt not make gold. And last but never least; thou shalt not commit the ultimate taboo of Human Transmutation.” 

“That’s correct Major.” The Fuhrer responded calmly. “Your research has allowed you to develop a unique ability, which those rules technically do not directly apply to by a very small margin. Therefore, if you are no longer a State Alchemist, I might look the other way if you decided to use those abilities to your benefit.”

There’s a catch, of course. Always is. And if you didn’t ask after what that could be, you’d have no way of knowing what trouble you’re in for later on. “And why should _his Excellency_ decide to be so generous, given those very same tenets?”

He propped his elbows upon the desk and laced his fingers together. “I would be inclined to not only fulfill your request and release you from the military, but would also turn a blind eye to certain activities _if_ you decided to remain in Amestris. This way you could use your alchemy how you see fit, within reason.” His sharp green eye narrowed dangerously. “But Major, the moment you become careless with this privilege, I will not hesitate to put that leash right back around your neck.”

 _Again_ with the canine references. They never seemed to end when one is a State Alchemist. You leaned forward a little. Oh yeah, something’s _definitely_ not right with this guy. Underneath your uniform, the muscles in your back and shoulders cinched tight, as if anticipating the approaching need to defend yourself. “Why are you so fixated on keeping me here in Amestris?”

“Why are _you_ so interested in leaving?”

You went silent, the tension bleeding from your shoulders. He was dead-on accurate, and evidently knew how to appeal to your business sense. Your parent’s money is not your own, not until they die. A State Alchemist’s salary isn’t quite high enough to support the costs of living in a cavernous estate. Not to mention that you’ve been unwilling to give the mansion up because of the laboratory there, which had everything you could possibly need. So you would require a substantial source of income. In order to turn a pretty profit, you wanted to practice your alchemy with no restrictions. But other countries are actually _more_ strict on regulating the usage of alchemy than Amestris is. Here, a person can be an alchemist unofficially and not join the military if they wished, but it benefits one greatly to join. You where counting on the ignorance of others to help conceal your sin, but that’s a temporary deception, and you knew this damn well. Elsewhere, the rules are different. Such regulations were installed so that other countries could tighten the belt and attempt to compete with Amestris as a major alchemical power. This country has weathered a constant assault from all sides throughout the years, and held the line without wavering. 

Smirking, you reached into a pocket of your uniform and extracted your watch. “Fine. I will stay in Amestris, providing that you discharge me from the military and ‘turn a blind eye' as you called it; when I begin using my alchemy for personal gain, as per our agreement.” You arose, and placed the engraved silver watch upon the center of his desk, right before his folded hands. “Rest assured Fuhrer, there won’t be any trouble from me. What I do is _technically_ not ‘making gold’ or human transmutation.” Your smirk grew a hint wider, almost revealing teeth. “Oh, and…if you have bodies that need to vanish without a trace, send them my way.” You stepped back from the desk and left, without a one salute to who is considered the most powerful man in the country, possibly the world. Until proven otherwise, that is. 

Perhaps staying in Amestris wasn’t the worst thing. You wanted to see that man ground into a bloody pulp, and your oh-so insightful gut instinct told you that day may still come.

 

_[Different Perspective] Several Years Later, Central City Super-Max Prison…_

 

Around seven long years had passed. Seven years to stare at blank gray walls in solitary confinement. Seven years, and the only spark of color in this dull world was a shard of red. He hadn’t seen the sun in all that time. Hell, he hardly saw another _human_ unless it was bath day, where he'd be thrown in a cramped tile stall; chained to the walls, and hosed down with water which was either boiling hot or freezing cold, never in-between. At mealtimes, a tray of flavorless food was shot carelessly through the meal slot, and he would eat and drink when necessary. His primary activity included sitting on a cot and waiting. It didn’t take long to learn how to swallow and regurgitate the Philosopher’s Stone without one of its sharp points becoming lodged in his throat; and he would often take the stone out to admire it, yearning to dip into that seemingly boundless well of power. But alas, all Solf J. Kimblee could do was wait for the day when he would either be exonerated, or put to death.

This is death row, of course. The latter seemed more likely than the former.

Presently, Solf was eyeing the Philosopher Stone where it was pinched between thumb and forefinger. He was able to see his own reflection in one of the facets, but was far from caring about how three days worth of stubble adorned his jaw, or the haphazard state his lengthy black hair had fallen into. Instead he grinned, and thought pleasantly of when he’d be able to unleash this tremendous power upon the world again. Strangely, there wasn’t a concern in his mind about being on death row. He hardly bothered grappling with the notion that the state would execute him because it never felt real.

As he heard a pair of voices approaching; Solf popped the shard into his mouth and gulped it down, not remotely bothered with the sensation of a hard lump sliding down his throat. He would close his eyes in preparation for when one of the newcomers slid the window slot open, pretending to be nodding off.

“On your feet, Kimblee. You’ve been released.”

Cold blue eyes opened and swiveled calmly towards the door. All traces of mirth from moments ago had vanished. He didn’t move, only watched and waited, knowing they’d enter.  
There was the familiar clatter of a crowded key ring, and the Warden unlocked the heavy brown-painted reinforced door. His partner barged in and grabbed Kimblee’s upper arms, roughly hauling him up off the cot. “C’mon. You need to make yourself presentable.” He grunted to the alchemist, and with the Warden following close by, Solf would be escorted away to clean up and change. He’d forgotten what it was like _not_ to be hosed down by an intense stream. By comparison, it felt as though there was nearly no water pressure. Something about that was familiar.

Facing a shower wall and lathering soap through his hair, Solf recalled a certain afternoon in Ishval. It’d been the last time he had sex before being imprisoned, too. That woman…she had a few drops of Ishvalan blood in her, and sported the telltale red eyes. For that alone, he should dislike her. But he remembered how they met, and what he had witnessed. He recalled seeing this woman climb up out of his path of destruction, apparently unharmed. Also, they had spoken several times throughout the duration of the war. She did not fear him. Didn’t seem capable of it, really.

Those years ago, little by little, he realized that he wanted to fuck her. And they did. Hadn't been bad either, considering the situation and how there was only a very short time span to do it in. Fast, hard, and furious; Solf surrendered to his impulses, as he is occasionally prone to doing. Neither of them could make any obvious noises either, which served to make the situation slightly more interesting...who would snap and give in first, if either? 

While now drying off, Kimblee silently mused that he really could not have asked for a more fulfilling job than the war of extermination. And that particular day had been one of the best as well. Mass murder, large scale destruction, and sex all rolled into one afternoon?

Oh, _hell_ yeah. Doesn’t get much better than that!

Now clean shaven, dressed, and more smug than usual, he headed towards the door to step out into the hall, but paused upon hearing two men talking in the hall. Naturally, it was the Warden and that guard from before. 

"Lettin' him go makes no sense! That guy's nuttier n' a fruitcake, you can _smell_ crazy on him from a mile away."

"Yeah." The Warden's rough voice agreed. "Imagine my surprise when I took that phone call."

"He had a few more years before his execution, an' they go an' get cold feet or somethin'?" The guard was fairly young, recently transferred from the south, and didn't know when to keep his trap shut. Behind the door, Kimblee decided to eavesdrop.

Warden sniffed, as if his allergies were bothering him. "No, it's not just Kimblee. There's others they took out earlier in the year. I see these guys get into a truck owned by the state, then never see or hear about them again. Not on the news, not in town, not _anywhere_. Of course, can't blame them for not sticking around."

The new guy wrinkled his nose, freckled face twisting in distaste. "Lettin' convicted criminals out, an' now liftin' all charges against a guy who didn't have a leg to stand on? What's worse; he attacked and killed his _superiors_. Shit, when my brother's guard-mutt jumped on a neighborhood kid and ripped her arm real bad, they put im' down an hour later. Same thing should happen for the military's attack dogs. Alchemists just ain't _natural_."

The Warden grunted and nodded his acquiesence. "I'm not sure they understand what they're doing here. Kimblee isn't worth the risk, no matter what they think he'll be good for. Better to let sleeping dogs lie."

Before any more could be said, Solf pushed the door open, donning his tailored white suit. He didn't say a one word. Didn't need to. His aura of smugness did the talking. _'I'm free, and there's nothing you worthless pricks can do about it.'_

The new guard curled his lip and the Warden grumbled, a noise that sounded like gravel in his throat. "Let's get this over with." He said, and Kimblee began on his way down the wide gray corridors, which were as devoid of feeling as usual. Even when he was about to be free of this damnable place, these walls were quite as stalwart and forbidding as the first day he entered here. Only difference is, these people could no longer contain him. He is unchained, and there is literally nothing but his own common sense preventing him from reducing this building to rubble. The men escorting him to the exit had become painfully aware of that scary fact.

“So who made this decision?” Kimblee inquired of the Warden.

"I didn't say you could talk, Kimblee." He responded coldly. This did not discourage the alchemist however. Being in good spirits, he was in the mood to chat. To rub it in, even. "Must have been someone pretty high up."

"Shut your mouth." Warden snapped. "You must have some kind of big connections to avoid the death sentence. It makes me sick."

"Nope, no connections. I just deserve to go free."

"You really _are_ psychotic. What kind of political move is this, letting a nut job like _you_ out?" They passed through a set of doors, and Solf raised his white fedora to shield his face, squinting in the brilliance of day until his eyes adjusted. Across from them was a pair of guards on either side of a towering barred gate. In near-perfect unison, they parted the doors. It was as he watched them that a slightly cruel idea flickered through his mind. "You know, Warden..." He began slowly, and turned with a smile, hand extended. "I appreciate you taking care of me."

"Hm?" The Warden's dense eyebrows raised at this change of attitude. Advancing forward, he grudgingly accepted the Crimson Alchemist's hand in an unnecessarily tight grip of his own. "I hope I never see you again." He growled, only to be caught off guard when tendrils of red energy crackled around their clutched hands. Before his eyes, the plain black wristwatch he wore every day was transformed into a thick spiked brown-leather cuff. The watch's simple black face had changed so that a skull was in place of the number twelve, and a fuse beneath it was hooked to a small yellow and gold box with a split down the center. When the watch hand began ticking every muscle in his flabby body trembled, and his immediate kneejerk reaction was to panic. "Ah..ah...huh?!"

Across from him, Kimblee draped his white coat over an arm, placed his hat over his heart, and bowed his head in a most gentlemanly manner. "Just my way of saying 'thanks'." He said, pretending to speak genuinely. Though his amusement at this man's expense was notable. 

"Wha-what is this?! I can't get it off!!" He struggled, trying to pry the object away with clumsy fingers. "Help me!" He cried out, and a handful of other guards ran to his side to see if there was anything they could do. Sadly for him, they had no way of removing it on short notice. It was fitted too tight around his ham hock wrist to slip a knife under the band, and none of the guards here are permitted to carry blades anyway.

The watch hand ticked away rapidly, and his panic increased tenfold. "Don't do this to me!!" Warden lifted his frightened face to look pleadingly at Kimblee, who watched on with an arrogant smirk. "Kimblee, PLEASE!!!"

And then, as the clock hand reached the skull, the small gold and yellow box split open and out popped a toy canary on a spring, twittering almost mockingly at his terror. The Warden, who had brought his free arm up to shield his face at the last moment, stared disbelievingly down at the silly contraption with bloodshot eyes. His heart fluttered a thousand miles per hour in his chest, and he expelled a shaky breath which had been trapped inside.

Still with his coat and hat in hand, Solf pivoted slightly to the side, about to leave. "It's nothing but a harmless toy. I thought you could give it to your kid or something." He turned and walked away, fitting the white fedora on his head. 

"Farewell, _Warden_."

Leaving a group of stymied men behind, he stepped through the gates, which immediately squealed shut behind him. Solf smiled to himself and glanced up and down the street. "Now then, what next?"

As if on cue, a solitary car parked nearby at the curb honked twice, and he turned towards it. A hand popped out of the window, and waved him over. Whoever's inside was obviously waiting for him, perhaps they're the very same people who set him free. If so, the least he could do was speak with them. So Kimblee strode forward, pulling open the hind door and sliding onto the seat. No sooner had he shut it, than a vaguely familiar voice roped his attention.

"It's been awhile, Kimblee." 

When Solf averted his gaze towards the driver, the man in front turned to grin toothily over his shoulder, a shock of red energy rippling over his skin. As it did so, his appearance changed. Rather than the soldier whom Solf initially caught sight of, this person had dark green hair, shaped into narrow downward-hanging spikes reminiscent of a palm tree. His eyes changed to purple, and his complexion turned more fair. Also as though by magic, a black and red headband now adorned his forehead. Didn't take long for him to realize who exactly he shared the car with at this point.

Through it all, the homunculus' grin was unwavering. "Congrats on the early release." He turned back to face the steering wheel, reverting his transformation back to the earlier guise. 

"So I take it I have _you_ guys to thank?" 

Envy's gaze flickered towards the side window, checking to see if there was any traffic before preparing to pull out onto the road. "Yep. We could use a little extra help."

 _This_ was an unexpected turn of events, but a welcome occurrence nonetheless. Kimblee lowered his head a little, the usual conniving smile unfurling across his mouth. "My first day out of jail, and I already have a job." Envy pulled out onto the street, and started driving. 

"You remember Dr. Marcoh, don't you?" He began.

Solf's brow furrowed slightly at the name. "The scientist who created the Philosopher Stone? How could I ever forget him?"

"It appears he's escaped. Or...we _think_ he has."

"You 'think'?" Kimblee repeated, looking up at the back of Envy's head.

"We're still sorting out some of the details. One of the chimeras that we had watching over him has gone missing. Marcoh's specialty is transmuting living tissue. He might have used the chimera in his place." He took a turn. "And if that wasn't bad enough, we think he may have escaped with the Ishvalan warrior known as Scar."

Kimblee narrowed his eyes at this. Though he said nothing in response.

"Well, how about it? Considering you _were_ the one responsible for the extermination and all." He drew the vehicle to a stop before running a red light. Solf's expression was grim, and he turned towards the window, leaning an elbow upon the door, hand fitting thoughtfully across the lower half of his face beneath his nose. "You do have a point. It's inexcusable if I let a survivor crawl out of my path of destruction." 

Lights changed from red to green. Envy nudged the car forward with a purr of the engine. "You're free to kill Scar if you want. But we _do_ need Marcoh alive." 

He lowered his hand and removed his elbow from where he leaned. "You released me for just this little errand?"

Envy grinned and loosed a small chuckle. "After you've nabbed Marcoh for us, there's a certain little town we'll be asking you to wipe off the map." The homunculus glanced over his shoulder before returning both eyes to the road ahead. "That's your kind of job, right?"

Kimblee couldn't help but smirk in turn, "Hah, it's remarkable how cruel you are." He placed a hand against his belly and pressed, causing a certain familiar object to be regurgitated easily. The red stone shot up into his mouth, and he slipped it out upon his tongue, picking it up between thumb and forefinger and raising it to eye level with the same coldhearted grin. "It's been too long since I've used this."

A hand came into view over the front seat. Envy held a perfectly round red stone between two fingers, and he waved a little to catch Kimblee's attention. "I don't know if that one is going to be enough for this job." He said rather smugly. Kimblee reached forward and accepted it. "A new stone...did you use more Ishvalans to make it?"

"We actually used Dr. Marcoh's assistants who helped make the first stone for us."

Solf pocketed it within his pristine white jacket, continuing to wear his smirk. "Your cruelty's infinite."

While they lapsed into silence briefly as Envy continued to drive along, the bomber in the back seat thought back to Ishval. People climbing out of his path of ruin was indeed unforgivable.  
But then, he remembered that this man Scar wasn't the only one who had done so. Having noticed the mirth melt from Kimblee's mouth in the rear view mirror, Envy piped up. "Something on your mind?"

"Yes, actually. You mentioned needing a little help." He began. Envy could tell he was about to wind up for something. "What about it?"

"I know somebody else that you could call on who might be just what you're looking for in a comrade."

"Oh?" Envy raised his eyebrows. The reason they called on Kimblee in particular is because he was the _only_ person they thought of immediately who would have zero problems working with homunculi such as themselves. It was easiest to bail him out and be certain this man was somewhat indebted to them. This way they could keep him on a leash, however briefly. Kimblee placed a hand upon his chin once more, thinking back. The more he recalled past events, the more he realized he was dead-on accurate. 

Yes...she would be _perfect_ for this.

"In fact, I'm positive that this is right in her wheelhouse. Assuming she hasn't changed, that is."

"Who is this mystery person, then?"

"Rin Vega. The Dreadnought Alchemist."

There was a moment when Envy didn't respond. That was a highly familiar name. If memory served; she struck a deal with Wrath in order to be left alone, resigned from the State Alchemist program, and was discharged from the military on honorable terms. He was thinking back to the War of Extermination himself now, recalling this woman if he could. And then, slowly, _very_ slowly, a new smile crept across his face.

"Yes...you're right. I think she'll do nicely."


	4. Strictly Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are approached by Kimblee and Envy in a soldier's guise, barbs are traded, and the matter is quickly settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhig: Hey all! Sorry for the late late LATE chapter post, here. College is soaking up plenty of time. Many thanks for the reads, kudos, reviews and bookmarks! :3 <3 <3 <3 I promise I'll try harder to fix my schedule a bit more appropriately so I can actually write more chapters and work on the one-shots I've got going.

Strictly Business

 

For most people, things seldom go as planned. But for you, that wasn't the case. You held to your end of the bargain, and Bradley kept to his. Though you were fully aware that things were going all too smoothly, and you doubted you'd be left alone for long. Today, it felt very much as though your peace was about to be shattered. You knew this because you were staring down from a second floor window, watching two men exit a car. One of them was in uniform. The other donned what must surely be an unusually expensive, custom-tailored white suit. Something seemed familiar about him from a distance, though you couldn't exactly determine _why_.

Now to be fair, the military visited this estate rather frequently. But they were _never_ in uniform, and often approached from a little-known side entrance. These visitations occurred strictly in order to bring in certain corpses; bodies which they couldn't allow to be found. Bradley decided to take advantage of your offer a couple months in; and research went smoothly ever since, with a steady supply of 'materials' continuously trickling in. You've been making money hand over fist thanks to that; and that's to say nothing of anyone else who wanted to employ your peculiar talent. For the right price, a criminal of any sort could pay you to make their often grisly problems go away, as if by magic. And you would then proceed to make at least triple what they paid to begin with.

Sometimes, crime _does_ pay.

You turned and exited the room, walking down a grand staircase into the foyer by the time the butler let your new guests in. The first one whose face you saw was unfamiliar; a male soldier with short blond hair and medium blue eyes. You stepped off the stairs landing, approaching with crossed arms. "To what do I owe the honor of this _most_ unexpected visit?" You queried. The soldier's eyes flickered from head to toe, and not subtly. There was something very 'off' about him. Though you honestly had no idea what that could be. 

"Ms. Rin Vega, what a pleasure. It certainly has been awhile.” Said the man in the white suit, now walking calmly around the soldier and more into eyeshot. He removed his fedora, placed it to his chest, and bowed his head with a sly grin to which you lifted an eyebrow. "Well, well. Solf J. Kimblee. It's been years. I thought they fried you already." You remarked dryly; making Envy glance out the corner of an eye towards Solf, who chuckled at this. "Is that any way to talk to your superior, Major?" He asked, amused.

"You aren't my superior if I'm not in the military, Solf." You said, watching him slowly replace the hat atop his head. At least you hadn't regressed to addressing him by surname alone. That’s a good sign. "But you are.”

“Oh, I am? This is news.”

“Yes,” He removed an engraved silver watch from his inner coat pocket, and dangled it by the chain. You remembered that watch all too well. Every State Alchemist has one just like it, but over time wear and tear makes each pocket watch unique. Yours had a tiny gouge in the metal across the dragon’s eye, making it appear slanted and insidious. “You _are_. Don’t make me do this the hard way, Rin. Accept it, and we can get underway.”

“…” You eyed him coldly, unafraid of his threat. Kimblee has been locked up for a long time. You sincerely doubted that he got much in the way of exercise while holed up in solitary; whereas you kept your skills honed. Though, you had a feeling what he might say if you continued to resist. Chances are he had proof at his fingertips that you’ve been involved in illegal activities, and your agreement with Fuhrer Bradley was now null and void. So for now, might as well play nice. “Then by all means, please come in. Have a seat.” You sighed, gesturing almost flippantly and striding towards the closest sitting room. Solf smiled and followed, content with this reaction. It meant that you understand the situation, at least in part. Before a maid flew off to prepare refreshments you stopped her, one hand grasping gently above a fragile elbow. While you informed her retrieve a glass for yourself only, she attempted to conceal her trembling, and nearly sighed in relief when you let her go. As she scurried off, you settled into a chair and watched both Kimblee and Envy take their seats across from you. Both seemed rather at ease. You intended to change that.  
Solf figured this out immediately. He read your lips, and watched the maid quiver like a frightened rabbit in your grasp. Back in Ishval, there wasn’t a single sane person who would let you touch them, despite that you demonstrated you’re easily able to restrain yourself. But it seemed that even now, fear of your lightest touch was prevalent. Either you generated more of a reputation in Ishval than he thought, or the house staff had been given adequate reason to be afraid.

“Talk, Solf. I haven’t much in the way of patience for uninvited company.” 

“Now now, is that any way to speak to the people who can offer you more power?” Soldier-boy Envy piped up, and you turned your red gaze upon him lazily, now accepting a round-bottomed glass full of caramel liquid from the maid without looking. She left quickly out a side door, keeping her eyes averted. You took a sip, ignoring the subtle signs of whether or not either man was thirsty. “I have power. What’s the sense in obtaining more when I’ve got nowhere to use it, _certainly_ not to the fullest extent?”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Kimblee objected lightly. “We’ve come here for this very reason. The Fuhrer has graciously agreed to lift the ban on your alchemy during missions, providing of course that you exercise extreme caution and your best judgement.”  
You idly swirled the contents of your glass, long legs crossed. It was all you could do to prevent an ankle from twitching, like the lashing of an agitated feline’s tail. Tis’ plain to see, neither of these men were going to let up until they got what they wanted from you.

Typical.

“So what I’m getting from this is that you aren’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. If the response you happen to receive _is_ ‘no’, you’ll throw the book at me. Should that not be convincing enough, you would then proceed to threaten release of certain private documents; ones damning enough to humiliate me publicly and put me on trial, the punishment for which would be death row…yes?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Envy answered, smugness carving a maniac smile out across his face. You half expected his teeth to be razors. “So? Are you going to force our hand, or not? Have to admit, it would be fun to see try and refute all the evidence we’ve got going against—“

“—Do you know what the most entertaining thing of all is?” You interrupted, watching them both. Their inquisitive expressions were response enough. “Neither of you actually _asked_ me if I was in the mood for a bit of a bloodbath. Instead, you went straight to the military card. I guarantee that if you went with a mere question instead of an offensive, we would be drinking together instead of both of you sitting here watching me have a glass of this _outrageously_ expensive foreign liquor.”

“So how about that drink now?” Envy laughed. You again arched an eyebrow and took a deep sip, openly savoring the smooth taste of your drink. “No. You waived the right to be treated as a valued guest the second you both arrived pissing fire and spitting veiled threats. Now, I’ll explain how this is going to happen.” You set your glass down. “Both of you, _together_ and without leading one another through a lie, are going to explain to me why Bradley is willing to set our mutually beneficial arrangement aside so abruptly after several years. No details will be left out. After that, you are going to ask me again, nicely this time. And without sarcasm. It is then, and _only_ then, that I’ll begin to make my decision. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but within the week. If I sense that either of you is in any way lying to me, I will butcher both of you right here and now, leave the country, and proceed to divulge all the secrets I’ve learned by keeping tabs on in the military.” You picked up your glass again, and shifted in place to get more comfortable. “Begin.”

Envy’s mouth had fallen slightly ajar, while Kimblee became more solemn and contemplative. He knew you weren’t joking. You don’t have a reason to bluff, unlike them. At first he thought he might be able to order you to take the pocket watch back and roll over on command like in Ishval. But now you’re a former dog of the military without a collar, leash, or muzzle. He also knew that you probably weren’t kidding about keeping informed about the goings-on of the military, particularly the dirty little secrets. Because you were one of those very secrets yourself, you needed insurance to cover your own ass. But there is also no way of determining how much you know without directly asking, and neither of them were about to do that. This also made it impossible to lie about anything. While it’s a stupendously bold move on your part to say you could kill them both and walk away; Solf figured you at least understood that neither of them are to be taken lightly, and were under orders to keep you alive. He knew you wouldn’t make such claims unless you have reason to. He has seen what you are capable of in part during Ishval, but he didn’t know all of it.  
Neither did Envy apparently, whom while nevertheless incensed; kept quiet and thought on this for a moment. The homunculus decided that you thought he was a mere human. If this is so, then he could use such an assumption to his advantage like so many times before. Envy tended to prey upon ignorance wherever possible. But once…just this once.,.he was going to do that in a different way. If you wanted the truth, then he decided you would hear it. Considering that there’s only two possible outcomes to this whole situation, there was nothing for him to lose and everything to gain. If you’re at all like what Kimblee said you are, then this might be the correct decision.

“You remember what sparked the conflict in Ishval, right?” Envy asked. You nodded once, and he smirked wide as ever, rising from his seat. A red shock of energy rippled steadily up from his boots, moving up his legs and towards his chest. His build changed ever-so slightly as it did. “Good. Then you’ll recall it was a man who was supposedly against the military presence in Ishval. Hmm, let’s see…didn’t he look exactly like this?” The energy slipped up his neck and across his face, altering his appearance before your eyes. You leaned back in your seat, watching interestedly. “My my, that _is_ strange. Convenient, also. Are you going to tell me next that it was you who shot the child?”

“She was about this tall, with big red eyes and a teddy bear. She smiled at me right up until I pointed that gun in her face and pulled the trigger.” It was clear that he relished the memory. The backlash, the outrage, the splatter on his dusty uniform and the pool of red crawling down shallow steps in the square. If he inhaled, he could even detect that scent of fresh human blood in dead desert heat. The day was so hot, he could’ve sworn that the fluid sizzled when it touched sun-baked flagstones. There’d been a few moments of silence, and then an uproarious clamor. More gunshots would follow. More would bleed and die.

“You didn’t say it, but I know that expression you wear. I’ve worn it myself. All three of us have.” You admitted softly, eyeing him. His likeness to that particular man was flawless. “It’s hard to forget human misery, how it tastes and sounds and smells. No less addicting than the slaughter, really. But when one’s work is death-work, you must surely be prepared for it to stalk in your shadow at every turn. It waits for one slip up. The tiniest mistake, and you’ll die a worthless death with the rest of the rabble.”

“On the subject of death,” Kimblee began, watching you closely. “You’ve been making quite a profit off of it. Don’t you think that if that information leaked out, you’d be in a bad way?”

“But of course.” You agreed with a dismissive flick of the wrist, and took a sip of your drink. “Death is a racket. Humans profit off the deaths of other humans all the time. They’re called ‘funeral services’. They waste time digging holes in the ground, hiding bodies in caskets when in the end, they have no way of knowing if someone is in there six feet under. I’m saving them the trouble, really. Ugly, handsome, pretty, plain...death is the great equalizer. I can melt away their imperfections and immortalize them; make them _beautiful_ even if they weren’t in life. Then I cut them and sell them, where they end up on the finger of a loved one somewhere along the line. A blushing bride, a groom, a fiancé, a mother or sister or what-have-you. When one thinks about it, I give them the opportunity to bring happiness to others long after they’ve expired. They really _should_ be thanking me”

Envy whistled, impressed. He heard that you’re amoral, but this was above and beyond what he was expecting. _”So what Bradley said was true, then.”_ the homunculus remarked, and held back from adding, ‘congratulations, you monster!’ with the utmost enthusiasm. He delighted in cruelty, no matter the source. There’s nothing more fun than crushing a city of innocents to a pulp. There’s nothing quite like deceiving humans either, Envy notoriously adored both activities. Though what he learned of you was more or less about your grand deception. He could become attracted to a woman like that for a little while, even if she’s human. 

“So, this is all well and good. But you’ve yet to tell me why Bradley wants to break our little pact.” You prodded, watching them. Kimblee nodded. “Yes, the Fuhrer wanted you to stay in Amestris for this very reason. He knew that one day you would be needed again.”

“Planning on another Ishval?”

“Not quite.” Kimblee said. “I don’t know the precise details since I was bailed out of prison only hours ago myself.”

“And I’m the first one you thought to look up? I should be flattered.” You interjected, almost humorlessly. 

“See, I was only supposed to get Kimblee today. There were no plans to speak with you. I think Bradley was going to save you for later.” Envy added in, to which you scoffed. “What for? Ritual sacrifice? Don’t you need someone pure of heart for that, or some such bullshit?”

Envy’s grin only broadened for a moment, and he fought down the urge to gloat. How close that was, and you didn’t realize it! They were so open about keeping certain candidates alive for Father’s alchemical ritual on the Promised Day, but he opted to withhold that information for now. It may not serve him well to let you think that you would be in any form of danger by working with them. But before he could open his smug mouth, Solf piped up again. “A lot of killing needs to be done. In exchange for accepting this pocket watch and returning to the military, you will be given the freedom you have wanted for so long.”

“You do realize that you’re asking me to let you slip a leash around my neck in exchange for so-called ‘freedom’, yes?”

Solf narrowed his eyes. “A dog can either be allowed out into the world on a leash, or can be confined to the yard.”

“Or, she can rip out her owner’s throat and jump the fence.” 

“Not if she isn’t put down first.” Envy suggested, his grin growing more feral by the minute. 

“So then, I suppose you think you have a chance of getting that answer out of me sooner rather than later.” You said.

“There’s no other way. We don’t want you jumping the fence.” Solf mocked, to which you laughed. “Then ask me properly, like how I suggested earlier. Perhaps you’ll receive a positive answer.” At this, Kimblee wasted no more time. His patience was wearing thin, and he easily recalled what was said about twenty minutes ago. “So Rin, are you in the mood for a bloodbath?”

“Why Solf, I never thought you’d ask.”

“So?”

“Yes. I’d love to.”

 

Another ten or twelve minutes later, Solf handed you that pocketwatch, you were given instructions about what would happen next, and they left. As Envy slid behind the steering wheel and Solf sat in the back seat, the heavy doors clunked shut and there was a moment of silence where both men connected gazes in the rearview mirror. “That didn’t go the way I thought it would.” Envy admitted first, and Solf said nothing for a second. He absentmindedly pulled the seatbelt over his lap, fastening it with a click. “Oh no, this could’ve gone no other way than it did. She isn’t an average woman. If anything, this convinces me more that we made the right choice in approaching her.”

“You sure about that?” Envy asked, turning the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life, engine growling beneath the hood. “She could always take off while our backs are turned. What makes you think that she won’t?”  
“Not her style. Rin isn’t a coward.” Kimblee said, elbow propped upon the door.

“That’s funny, considering she’s been trying to run off for quite some time now. Only thing that kept her here is that Bradley needed to bend over backwards to make sure she doesn’t cut fence and run.”

“This should tell you something then, Envy. She could’ve left any time. Instead, she adopted a convincing poker face and made a bluff that no one could afford to call. No, Rin is _far_ more cunning than anyone gives her credit for. We’ll need to watch out for that.”

Envy turned off the long driveway, onto a broad tree-lined lane. This area is where most of the mansions in Central are, spaced generously apart. It feels as if they were built in a giant park with verdant, manicured lawns and hedges; and towering oaks, maples, cherry and dogwood trees hemming in beautifully maintained common areas and roads. Only the obscenely wealthy could live on this side of Central City. “Suppose so.” The homunculus said after a couple minutes of quiet driving. “She really believed that she could take both of us, easy. I should’ve killed her for that.”

“After backing her into a corner, I’d be more concerned if she _didn’t_ bare her teeth.” Kimblee pointed out, chasing that sentence with another he loathed to admit. “This is a good sign. She’s kept sharp. I, on the other hand, have been locked up for a very long time. We need someone like her right now.” He hated to say this, sure, but it was plain for someone like Envy to see. There was no way he could pull the wool over the homunculus’ eyes. Under ordinary circumstances, there was no way in hell that Solf J. Kimblee would utter those words aloud. But both of them were thinking it. He might as well say it. 

“I’m sure she’ll come in useful.” Envy gave in, and rolled his eyes. “Maybe she can succeed where Lust failed. But for now, we stay on schedule.”

That said, they lapsed into silence for the remainder of the car ride.


	5. Short Skirt, Long Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Envy appears with your initial assignment, which ends up being nothing like what you expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhig: As usual, sorry I’ve not been posting much. You know why. Because life. Blah. Thanks for hanging in there, guys! <3 <3 <3  
> And yes, the title is a nod to a certain song. XD Look it up if you haven’t heard it before. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own that song, this anime, or you! :3  
> Also I believe the unit of currency in FMAB is cenz, and 1 cenz = 1 yen. I used a unit converter. The drink mentioned later is over 15mil cenz because it’s supposed to be worth $150,000+.

Short Skirt, Long Jacket

 

“This isn’t pleasant.”  
“Rarely is. Stand on the scale, please. Coat and shoes off…yes, that’s perfect. Now stay still.”  
“What am I, five?”  
The nurse did not answer straight away. She had reached across you and nudged one of the sliding weights on the scale crossbar, poking it forward one mark at a time with a chipped periwinkle nail. Once the scale leveled out, she nodded apathetically and leaned closer to squint at the height ruler. “Something like that. Alright, you may step back down. This way please.”  
“….” You said nothing more, watching the nurse copy down your height and weight. Now that you were officially a part of the military again, certain rules and regulations must be observed. You had to endure a physical exam, amongst other unpleasant things. This only made sense since it’s been so long, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. You steered clear of medical professionals as a rule, often having no use for them. Since you generally took good care of yourself, you haven’t had so little as a cold in years. But the military always insisted on keeping up on these things. They needed to know if you were in shape, though either way you knew you’d be accepted back into the fold. After Kimblee and Envy went to your house unannounced, they couldn’t very well kick you back. That would just be rude, none of this was your idea after all.

After being poked and prodded and finally given a clean bill of health, you left the doctor’s office what felt like an hour later and ambled towards the car. Thankfully, that bit of unpleasantness was done with. But when you slid into the driver’s seat and began to turn the key, someone knocked on your window and you looked up to see a familiar blond soldier. The man grinned when you looked him in the eye, and you knew straight away who it was. Without invitation he walked around to the other side, opened the passenger door, and hopped in. “Nice car! What, no chauffer?”

“No.” You answered curtly. “What do you want?”

“Oh, you know. An arm, a leg, your firstborn. Standard stuff.”  
“Ah. Is that all?”  
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Well normally I’d ask for your soul, but it doesn’t sound like you have one anymore.” You rolled your eyes and leaned back in the seat, watching him almost unblinkingly. “Greed doesn’t suit you, Envy. Also you aren't 'the Devil', as so many call it." Then, “Neither of you fully answered my question before, probably because you couldn’t. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you two ripped me off.”

“And yet, here we are!” He said, quite enthused while he ignored your previous remark. You didn’t know anything about his dear estranged brother Greed, and he’d rather not talk about the guy. They tended to not get along very well, and if Greed met you, he’d end up wanting something that belonged in Wrath’s military. If you appealed to his taste in women, that is.

“And here we are.” You echoed belatedly, tapping your fingers idly on the steering wheel while staring out the windshield. Envy had no problem pushing boundaries to the point of agitation. Case in point: he is being happy go lucky, and you are now agitated. “Don’t think I won’t pinch you in half in this very car, homunculus. What do you want from me right now?”

“Wow, you don’t mind ruining an expensive car for little old me?” Envy mocked, donning his usual grin. “I’m here with your orders. Wrath wants you to get to work right away.”

“Yeah, sure he does.” You sighed. After the tense talk with Solf and Envy before, they filled you in on a few things which you needed to know in order to work efficiently. Part of that is who _is_ a homunculus, and how to identify them. Envy in particular tended to float from one task to the next, while the others were concentrated on more specific duties. It was best to know who your new co-workers are. “Out with it, then. What am I to do?” At this Envy’s grin lost a hint of tension. “Jeez, you’re no fun.” He groaned. “Alright, here it is.” He handed you a folder you hadn’t noticed in his hand before, primarily because you were busy not looking at him. You accepted the folder and flipped it open, and began reading the first sheet. With each sentence, your stomach almost dropped. “Is this some kind of joke?” You asked, glaring up at him. Envy burst out laughing. “Nope, fraid’ not! Your job is to sign up as Mustang’s very own assistant! And you better be charming, he isn’t gonna open up to a bitch with an attitude problem.” You almost scowled, and averted your gaze back to the offending document. “In short, to succeed where Lust failed.” You murmured.

“Yup!”

“…”

“I suggest that wear a miniskirt and drop that neckline a couple inches.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Well, if you insist, but in the front seat it’s gonna be kinda—GGHHH-K-K!” He didn’t finish his lewd comment, as you grabbed him by the front of his throat and crushed his windpipe in the process of pulling him forward, nose-to-nose. “That’s enough out of you, _homunculus_.” You hissed, ignoring the red-hot crackle of energy around his throat and across your fingers. “Now unless you have something actually _useful_ to say, get the fuck out of my car and quit testing my patience.” You reached across him and popped open the door, then before you could push him out he leaped out of the car. Right at this moment, Envy would’ve loved nothing more than to squash you AND that car like a beetle, but he refrained. He had been pushing your buttons, and you let him know that he wasn’t going to get away with that. Besides, you’re a candidate, and if he hurt you then Father would be outraged. They needed as many in the bank as they could keep.

When Envy left, you put the folder down and leaned your head back; pinching the bridge of your nose for a second before once again turning the key in the ignition, all the way this time. Your car hummed to life, and you shifted out of park. Mustang is a notorious pervert. Not exactly a disgusting creeper, but he certainly loved the ladies. Envy might have been real for a minute there; a mini skirt would get Roy to notice you, as would a top with a lower neckline. Except you cannot wear those things to work ordinarily, you figured you could tell a white lie and say you were waiting for your size uniform to be restocked. More women were joining the military these days, and he didn’t have to know that you still had your old uniforms. It would be acceptable to appear for an interview in a nice outfit, nothing too obvious though. Not to mention, you really would need to be charming. Though Envy had only ever seen you when you were annoyed by something, he had no idea how you are normally. He still had a point, and that beast of a homunculus is good at deceiving others.  
_’Dammit. Do I owe that prick an apology?’_ You wondered. Then you smiled a little. _’Nah.’_

And with that thought, you shifted out of park and drove home.

 

_Two Weeks Later…_

It took a little doing, but you pulled a string or two to get the word to Mustang that he had someone interested in working with him. The secretary, a nice lady who took pity on the poor man and agreed to take some of his calls while he was overloaded, helped get you a time slot to drop by for an interview. After sliding on a pair of over-the-knee boots with four-inch stacked heels; you laced them up the back, admiring the way your legs looked clad in soft black suede. Today was bound to be chilly, wearing a pair of stilettos would’ve given you goosebumps, and bumpy legs are not sexy. These boots, on the other hand, would keep you warm…not to mention, they were gorgeous, and already wearing the appropriate skirt (not exactly a mini) and the appropriate sort of top that didn’t show _too_ much cleavage, you would pause to examine your reflection in a body-length mirror. These heels made you taller than normal, and the Colonel isn’t exactly a giant. You almost shrugged at your doppelganger in the mirror. The woman looking back at you certainly wasn’t Hazard, or the Dreadnought Alchemist. This was you being you, as normal as possible for your chosen lifestyle.  
The objective was simple on paper. You needed to get Roy Mustang to trust you, and the easiest way to do that is to come to his rescue _on your own_ when he was left completely alone in his office to handle the workload. He had some plans, and the Fuhrer had other things to deal with. But keeping him close wasn’t changing much of anything, as there was some evidence that Mustang continued his treasonous activities; except more on the down-low than usual. He was unnaturally good at throwing tails off, and secretive without drawing suspicion from the ordinary public. This situation required a more refined touch.  
You somewhat hoped you would be working with Kimblee instead of this bullshit, but evidently that would come later. For now, you needed to take the direct path that Lust didn’t dare try: straight to the source, rather than an indirect approach. You had to get as close as you could to this man, and this apparently meant a little bit of self-degradation: working as an assistant to that perv wasn’t likely to be fun. Riza is still working under the same roof, but as the Fuhrer’s aide now, and she was being too closely watched so she wouldn’t have many chances to plot in secret with Roy. If Bradley assigned you to Roy’s office, then the Flame Alchemist would become instantly suspicious, as would Hawkeye. But if you deigned to offer your help, as a fellow alchemist who fought in the same war and once again wanted to join the military, then he might not take wise. It was a long shot, but it was all you had for now. Should this mission fail you’d be assigned to dealing with other problems, not unlike how Solf was.  
A little eyeshadow was needed, and the slightest hint of blush. You pulled your hair back into a sleek twist, clasped on a tasteful set of earrings and a necklace, a couple bracelets, and that was all. Fairly simple yet elegant, particularly when compared to some of the things you wore as a young rich brat in her rebellious teenage years. Until you settled down and studied alchemy, you were out causing all sorts of trouble in just about every country you visited with your family. One day, your mother got so fed up with your antics that she hired an alchemist to whip you into shape, a man you came to adore. 

But it was fortunate, however, that he never lived to see the woman you would become.

Now ready, you pulled on a knee-length dark green military coat, buttoned up, a pair of leather gloves, and headed out into the chilly morning. Your breath arose in weightless white puffs on your way to the car, last night marked the first frost of the season. It came rather early this year, and leaves were only recently beginning to drift. Most trees around here were still quite green, as was the grass, all of it rimmed with frost which had yet to melt. These things only reflected that today was unseasonably cold, and the forecast was for a cool week to come. 

The butler already had someone go out to scrape down the frost off your car and get it warmed up, so all you needed to do was slide into the driver’s seat and leave. There were days where you wished the house was empty, but then there are also mornings like these; you were grateful for help for the silliest reasons. When it came to housework and cleaning and cooking, you were all thumbs. Merely _trying_ to cook was bound to set you off. Fortunately, the butler Drake, whom had been working here since you were a toddler, knew exactly how to keep you in a pleasant mood. Oddly, small stuff like making sure the car was defrosted ahead of time was one such way. You weren’t the worst employer since having taken over this particular estate: they do their jobs to the letter, you pay them plus benefits. It’s mutually beneficial. Drake runs a tight ship, and few incidents were had.

The car was nice and warm inside on the way to Central HQ, where you were hoping that being a few minutes early would make for a good impression. You looked out the corner of one eye towards where Envy was sitting yesterday afternoon, telling you to wear a mini skirt and a boob shirt. Perhaps it really was in jest, or not, but either way here you were; walking into Central, towards the office of that secretary who was doing a bit of extra work for the Colonel. The middle-aged woman smiled up at you after a minute. “Good morning, Major.” She checked the time. “You’re seven minutes early, but that should be alright. The Lieutenant Colonel is in his office; I’ll bring you there now.” You smiled and nodded once, trying your best to remain pleasant. Normally you were more of a night owl. Being up at this hour after several years of sleeping as late as you want didn’t come easily, and it wouldn’t take much to turn you into a grouch right now. 

As expected, Roy’s office wasn’t far away. It was set back a little in a quieter part of HQ, and far enough away from Bradley too. There was a time when this place was noisy, but those days were done. The door was open ajar, yet the secretary knocked twice politely. “Colonel Mustang? Your 8 o’ clock is here to see you.”

“Send her in.” 

The woman turned and smiled again. “Good luck.” With that she went on her way and you let yourself in, glancing around to get a feel for the area. It’s a big room, with two rows of desks facing each other, the chairs all pulled in neatly. There was no one aside from the Colonel here, who was at the big desk at the end of the room, light streaming in through windows behind him. He was surrounded by towers of paperwork, with even more of it stacked on one of the otherwise empty desks as well. There was a cup of coffee on his desk, and as you approached you noticed an empty muffin paper which he scooped up and tossed into the trash can off to the side as you watched. “Ah, Major Vega was it?” He asked, clearing his throat. 

“Yes. Good morning, Colonel, it’s been quite a while. If I’m not mistaken, the first and last time we spoke was in Ishval.” 

Roy stopped mid-sip and lowered his mug, leaning over his desk a bit to squint at you disbelievingly. He clearly hadn’t been getting much sleep. “…Hazard…? Er, _Rin?_ ” You smiled and nodded once. “I know; it’s been quite some time. You’ve risen in ranks since we last met, sir.” Once you had a hard time being respectful to the Fuhrer himself. Now, you needed to do the same thing for a man who is lower down the totem pole, _and_ be consistent about it. Roy straightened up, watching you unbutton and shed your coat, folding it over the back of a vacant chair. “Anyhow, I’ve decided to come out of retirement.” You faltered, looking down at your outfit while stripping off both leather gloves. “Ah, yes. My apologies for not appearing in uniform. I am waiting for them to restock my size, and the one old uniform I have is still at the tailor.”  
Roy closed his mouth, which was ajar. He had been discreetly checking you out, and you pretended not to notice, smiling warmly at him instead and attempting to inject some form of kindness into your red eyes. Shockingly, he appeared to relax a bit. “That’s fine. Though I’m wondering, why now? And why this particular job?”

You lifted your eyebrows, taking a few steps closer. “I suppose those are very fair questions.” You said, pausing a few more paces away from his desk. “May I take a seat, sir?” Only then did he realize that he allowed his manners to lapse during his astonishment. “Yes, of course.” Said he, and you turned, grabbed the chair holding your coat; picked it up one-handed, pivoted, and set it down easily. The chair was heavy, constructed of solid wood and metal. They always dragged on the floor when someone moved them. You acted like it was light as a feather.  
Once it was situated directly across from his desk, you sat down, crossing one long leg over the other. You adjusted the hem of your skirt, but he caught a flash of thigh anyway. Now settled, you folded your hands upon one knee. “That war…we all followed our orders, but that didn’t stop others from treating us like monsters.” You began. Roy almost visibly sobered. He knew that himself. He saw what that war did to so many.  
“Even our own flesh and blood, for some of us.” You continued, and sighed. “My family heard of the atrocities committed there, and decided they could not bear the sight of me. That was when State Alchemists such as ourselves were branded ‘dogs of the military’. Attack dogs, I suppose. Well see, mother and father always _hated_ dogs of any kind. They signed my childhood home over to me, then moved to Xing. I arrived to find the place mostly empty. Apart from the help, I’ve been very much alone. Took the time to do some alchemical research, attempted to nurse my social life back to health, filled the hours however I could. Though I suppose you could say part of me never really came home, I haven’t felt the same since the war. And lately I hear all sorts of crazy things. I’ve been wondering for so long if I made the wrong decision about quitting, so when I applied to get my state certification back, I inquired after whether or not there was work for me here. They mentioned you, so I decided to see if you’d like some help. Though I’m aware that it’s highly irregular for an alchemist like myself to fill such a position.”

 _’I have a few ‘positions’ I’d like you to fill.’_ Roy thought to himself as he eyed your boot-clad legs, your body, your face. But he restrained himself. “I did see that resume you sent ahead. It’s quite impressive, and I could certainly use some help, as you can see.” He gestured to the stacks of paperwork. “But this job isn’t only about riding a desk. I go out into the field often. You should know what that means; it includes acting as my backup when necessary. We will be placed in dangerous situations.” He failed to add, ‘Also, we will be engaging in treasonous activities conspiring against the Fuhrer’. You already knew that part, but had to act like you didn’t. So far it wasn’t as hard as you thought it’d be to act in a softer way. Most people put on a nice-guy act during interviews to get hired. This would be no different. 

“Yes I am aware of that, sir. I am comfortable with working in such conditions.”

“I take it you were re-issued your State Certification already?”

You reached behind you, and extracted your silver pocket watch from a coat pocket, and held it up to show him. It glinted in the light, chain swaying. “Of course.” He looked at the gleaming silver watch, hands folded where he sat behind his desk. This is very tempting. He _could_ refuse, there’s always a chance that you were sent by Bradley to be his eyes and ears. But you’ve been out of play for so long, he wasn’t convinced that would be the case. There was always the possibility that this isn’t a trick, and he could find a willing ally in you. He didn’t have too many people dedicated to his cause, only the usual suspects; and they were all scattered to the four winds. But still, if you are indeed a spy, this was almost a relief. He knew Bradley was keeping eyes on him, at least now he’d know where those eyes are located.

“One more question, Major.”  
“Yes?”  
“When can you start?”

You smiled, trying not to let him detect how relieved you were. “Today, if you like.” 

Roy arose from his seat, and walked around his desk. Black eyes skimmed over your form once again, but this time for more legitimate reasons. He realized that it might not be wise for you to be wandering around Central Command dressed as a civilian. While he had no qualms about being seen with a beautiful woman, this was more for professionalism’s sake. Just in case you _aren’t_ a spy, he didn’t want to run the risk of you getting bumped from Roy’s office because you weren’t in uniform. He needed the help, dammit!

“When will you have a uniform available?” He asked. You lifted a shoulder, uncrossing your legs and standing up. “I’m planning on visiting the tailor later, to make certain the alterations are correct. I could pick it up as soon as its finished, if my attire is a problem.”

“Ahh…don’t get the wrong impression, you look great!” He interjected, and you were nearly taken aback. “Thank you?”

“It’s just that I don’t want you getting in trouble on your first day back, that’s all. Why don’t you report in tomorrow if that uniform’s finished, then we can get started?” _’Besides,’_ He thought to himself. _’This’ll give me a little longer for that background check.’_

You nodded appreciatively. “That’ll do, I think. 8:00AM tomorrow?” The Colonel offered a hand, and you accepted it with a firm shake of your own. “That’ll do.” He echoed with a smirk. “I look forward to working with you, Ms. Vega.”

“You too, Colonel.” 

That said, you put the chair back, picked up your coat and gloves, and left. Roy’s smile faded when the door shut, and he checked the time. Still too early. Madame Christmas wouldn’t have that (really fucking revealing) background check ready until this evening, when he got off work. Once he had the standard one done by the state office sitting on his desk along with your resume, he knew he couldn’t stall for time any longer. You’d called a few times to see if everything was in order, but only ever spoke to the ones who sorted such paperwork out. You were clean, but not _too_ clean. There were a few marks on your record from the crazed teenage years, but nothing that the military wasn’t able to overlook. Destruction of property, a couple drunk and disorderly charges, another random misdemeanor and a traffic violation. If anything, it seemed more like you were a little rapscallion growing up.

Roy set down the paperwork, frowning. Hopefully, Madame Christmas had some good news for him later. 

He sure as hell couldn’t take much more _bad_ news right now.

 

_Later…_

You visited the tailor on the way home, as not all things you said to Mustang’s face were an omission of the truth. When you tried on that one old uniform, it had a few spots that needed mending; and there were a couple places where it never quite fit the way you wanted it to, even back then. But on the return home, you found yourself wondering again why Wrath decided to put you in this position. He wanted you to report on Roy’s movements, yes, but why couldn’t someone else do it? Was this a test?

When you arrived back home and began walking in the front door with your suit slung over your shoulder, Drake intercepted you with worry etched into his graying face. “My Lady, you have a visitor.” You let one of the maids take the clothes bag, frowning slightly. You hadn’t noticed the other car, it was parked out of sight around the other side of the fountain, and you had been lost in thought on the way in. “I’m afraid I couldn’t turn him away, he insisted.”

Drake is old, but still sprightly for his age. He also comes from what you always thought of as, ‘another era’. His mannerisms were different. He adhered to older, stricter standards and harbored beliefs not entirely up-to-date with this day and age. It wasn’t in his nature to be rude to a guest visiting the estate. “Where is he?” You asked, having a feeling about who it may be. “The library. He’s made himself quite comfortable.”

You waited no longer and strode down the hall. Since you were the only Vega under this roof, you took certain liberties. The library had tripled in size since the others left, and rooms were converted into extensions of the main library. It now dominated the whole of the eastern wing, apart from the fifth floor just below the attic; which you allocated as a private research area. No one was permitted to go there. So to say that this ‘mysterious’ visitor was in the library, meant this person could be anywhere within a rather large place.  
Thankfully he was easy to spot. You found him in the main room at the end of the first floor, settled in one of the overstuffed tufted arm chairs, with an atlas and a few maps spread open on the coffee table before him. It was none other than Solf J. Kimblee of course, whom was currently swirling a round-bottomed glass of cognac as he examined the maps. You kept alcohol readily available at all times in most areas of the house. It helped soften your temper. He apparently decided to help himself. “I wasn’t aware that you were into day drinking.” You remarked, and he turned to look, black ponytail shifting against his back. Strangely, he didn’t look out of place here. If a stranger were to walk in, they might believe he was master of the estate.

With a sigh, you crossed the room towards a side table, musing inwardly. These people you were now working with seemed ready to establish a habit of dropping in unannounced, and it was an old family custom not to turn away guests rudely. You didn’t care much about family customs anymore, but for now would stay courteous. Still, this seems likely to become a recipe for disaster someday. But right now, this man looked very much like he’d just come home from a hard day at work, and was enjoying a drink in a tranquil spot; with the top few shirt buttons loosened and an indigo tie hanging unknotted around his collar. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.” 

He took another sip, and sat the glass down, blue eyes flickering back over the surface he’d been studying so intently. “I needed a quiet place to get a drink, and an updated map. You don’t mind, do you?” He wasn’t really asking for permission. He didn’t care if you had a problem with it. 

You rolled your eyes and pulled the stopper out of a new bottle, deciding it was time for a drink yourself. “Really now, Solf? We only fucked once like seven years ago, that hardly bought you the privilege of waltzing in whenever you want.” At that he laughed, a noise that was originally intended to come out harsh. It didn’t, instead he almost sounded relaxed. Kimblee had not been able to drink in seven years, his tolerance might’ve decreased. Though he wasn’t aiming to get hammered, the few glasses he already had were working their magic. “No? That’s a shame. I’ll have to work on that.”

You sunk into the couch adjacent to his spot, and leaned back with a tumbler in hand. “You’re welcome to try, considering that last performance.” He snorted into his glass, tipping it back with his fingers extended. “We almost slipped and fell a couple times.” Said he. 

“Uh, no, _you_ almost slipped and fell. While you were still inside me, might I add.”  
“Trivialities.” His voice was slightly deepened after a sip.  
“Are we really doing this? Pillow talk seven years later?”  
“You started it.” You shrugged, and Solf put the glass down again, now flipping a page. “I figured that Envy’s presence made our conversation more hostile than it needed to be.”  
“He’s not the reason for that and you know it. Why the sudden interest in geography?”

“Upcoming mission. How was your interview?”  
“Easy. Accidentally on purpose flashed a thigh, he hired me. I was hoping my credentials would’ve been what influenced his decision, but sex appeal works too. Either way, mission accomplished.” This said, Kimblee looked up at you. You weren’t sure, but you thought you detected a glimmer of agitation. “You don’t approve.” You observed, intrigued.  
“Am I that transparent?” He grunted. You shifted, set your cup down, tucked your legs up onto the couch and laid down, one sepia-tattooed arm under your head. “Why’s it bothering you?”  
He looked down at where you nestled against a pillow, eyes colder than you’ve ever seen before. “Because I haven’t said that I’m _done_ with you yet.”

You smiled, eerily relaxed in the midst of such a comment. He was dead serious. Kimblee’s temperament can burn about as hotly as your own, arguably worse at times. He got taken to prison before he could finish a lot of things, even missing the mark on completing the extermination. Many Ishvalans survived, unbeknownst to him. And then there was you, apparently once wasn’t enough for him. You’d known one another for quite a while before Ishval, but never _had_ to interact much until your tents were situated near one another and your paths kept crossing. “I belong to no one, Solf. Besides, you appear to be headed somewhere far away.”  
His gaze softened for a moment, and he looked back down at the map. He knew you were right. Back then, you both weren’t what one would call ‘close’. More like a pseudo-rivalry that never bloomed into anything more than sexual tension. Odd how even now, you sort of felt the same way as you did back then. This man aggravated you to the point of being horny. It was a trifle confusing, even being one in control of her sexuality and comfortable in her own skin. “I know.” He said after a moment. The last reports he had on Scar were faulty, and he was waiting on new intelligence. The old info was so scattered that he had to wonder if it was tampered with. No matter what though, he had to get moving as soon as he got word back on any Scar and Marcoh sightings.

You checked your pocket watch and looked up at Kimblee. It was getting close to dinner, and you could smell food already. Whatever…might as well. “Stay for dinner. We can pretend that we don’t fucking hate each another for another night.”  
He blinked up from the large book, as if in disbelief. “You’re offering for me to stay?”  
“Now now, sir. Dinner first before I allow _that_ kind of talk. I am a lady after all.” 

Glancing over your getup about as subtly as Mustang did earlier, Solf had to agree. Prior to the day he arrived here with Envy, he’d never seen you wear something feminine. Military dress may look sharp, but it’s not what most would call ‘sexy’. “In the meantime,” You interrupted his thoughts. “Carry on what you came here for, Solf. I would _hate_ to be the reason why you didn’t get your homework done.” Of course, using the term ‘homework’ loosely. “Dinner is always served at 6:30. Someone will get you at 6:25. Button your shirt at least.” You arose, scooping up your nearly-empty glass with one hand. “And stop drinking my cognac, It’s over 15.6 million cenz per bottle and you’ll be hammered before dinner.” This said, you departed and left him with the maps. Solf snorted a little into his drink, yet again. _’Some lady.’_ He thought, and resumed where he left off with the atlas, or attempted to. His thoughts lingered on what you said, that he was preparing to go somewhere distant. Forming and keeping a relationship at a distance can’t be easy for everyone. There’s not exactly some form of instant communication to make the miles fall away, you’d need to settle for telegraphs, static-riddled long distance phone calls, or snail mail. Neither of you were the clingy type, and excess communication wasn’t necessary. By default this made you all the more tempting as someone he could allow himself to be involved with, out of all the women he’d experienced here and there. Thinking on that, Kimblee may not be pleased that you got all dolled up for the Flame Colonel, but he had to consider the ‘why’. Which was: he got you involved in all this, and you were acting accordingly by working on your assignment to get that pyro to trust you.

At 6:25, a maid appeared to notify him it was time to eat. He had already buttoned his shirt and knotted his tie. Kimblee wasn’t sure if he’d be staying the night or if someone would arrive bearing news before it got to the ‘undressing’ phase, so may as well look put together either way. You might see it as him obeying your request, but this wasn’t the case. 

So Solf J. Kimblee would meet you in a prettily appointed room for dinner at 6:30, all the while wondering if you had hidden motives to invite him to dinner.


End file.
